


Fox's Guile

by RedPen (GardenVatiety)



Series: Of Salt and Steel [1]
Category: Zootopia (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, GooglingWhatSwashbucklingActuallyMeans, OhItMeansSwordWeildingAdventureOk, OldTimeySpeaking, Original Character(s), Pirates, Relationship(s), Violence, swashbuckling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-08
Updated: 2017-04-07
Packaged: 2018-09-30 20:40:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10171475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GardenVatiety/pseuds/RedPen
Summary: In a far off time, before the ease of modern convenience, the world was one of honour and death and blood spilled in the service of kings. To one such prosperous kingdom, Zoohaven, a daring rabbit captain has pledged her service, and is ordered across the sea to hunt down a renegade of their allies. Much is at stake, but Captain Judith is unperturbed; after all, rabbits are lucky, and where luck fails, she has a conscripted fox to supply trickery in place.





	1. The Plan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Welcome to my ongoing series about Zootopia on the high seas. It was supposed to be part of a series of one-shots, until I suddenly had twists and character arcs running rampant through my head. Fair warning - I am a slow updater. Glacial, even. Sorry in advance. And yes, this is going to be a relationship-driven work, but you'll have to wait for the payoff. Comment if you enjoyed!

Nick stared at the half-inch of amber rum sloshing around in the bottom of his cup. It was from the supply they had taken on at Blackrock, and to put it frankly, he could not recall having had a more repulsive drink, in a life that was overflowing with candidates from rank taverns and winepits all around the globe. Nick presumed it had been distilled inexpertly by some sun-addled islander hoping to make a quick profit, and it burned on the way down his throat like hot coals. He supposed –- and didn’t have the bravery to test -– that the rum was actually highly flammable.

Drinking it from a fine cup was hardly helping with the flavour, either. The rosewood goblet, with the crest of the Zoohaven Royal Navy picked out in delicate silver, looked far more appropriate for an expertly-aged brandy and conversation about lofty topics than for swilling rotgut that could take the rust off an anchor. But, still, the finery was his to use.

“To think I gave up a life of wealth and women…” he muttered with a smirk, and downed the last of his drink.

The door to his quarters suddenly burst open, and an imposing shadow filled the entrance. Nick turned to look over his shoulder, and smiled warmly at the intruder.

“Ah, First Lieutenant Felix! I was just thinking how much I’d enjoy your presence. Come in and sit down! Have a drink! I promise, there’s only a moderate chance it will kill you…”

“The captain has ordered you to the deck, Redcoat,” came the gruff reply, which was exactly the kind of reply one would expect from huge, cumbersomely muscled panther. With his immaculate blue uniform, officer’s stripes and permanent scowl of disapproval, Felix was not the sort of person to mess with. Nick took great pleasure in irritating him constantly.

“Captain wants to see me? Now that is highly irregular…” Nick pondered, raking a finger through his chin fur. “Unless she wants a verdict on the potability of this embalming fluid we’re calling rum, I can’t think for the life of me why I’d be in demand…”

“Listen, fox,” Felix growled. “The captain ordered me to bring you up on deck, not to put up with your antics. Now get your things and report, or I’ll be happy to flog you myself.” The panther’s eyes gave Nick a once over, wrinkling in disdain at his tattered brown coat and rough accouterments. “Let me remind you, Redcoat, that whatever the captain sees in you is invisible to the rest of us, and as soon as she comes to her senses and recognises you for the lowlife you are, you’ll be hanging from the end of a noose where you belong. Got it?” Felix turned sharply, but paused briefly before he made his leave. “Also, the captain requested again that you report in your proper uniform. However, if I catch sight of you sullying the Crown uniform with your loathsome inadequacy, I’ll throw you overboard myself.” Then he was gone.

Nick grinned after him and got to his feet, putting down his cup. He wasn’t supposed to go by Redcoat anymore, a moniker that he hadn’t earned on account of the colour of his clothes. It didn’t bother him any if they called him by his past name, though. He was not one of them.

He spread the brown long-coat he did wear, examining its battle-scars and patches, and of course the one highly conspicuous hole through its waist. His grin widened as he popped one finger through said hole with a wiggle, and then, donning his black tricorn, he strolled out of his room and up to the deck.

 

 

They had been at sea for three months now, and there was a general excitement amongst the crew; the oats from the rumour mill were that they would see and engage the enemy, who were renegades of the Porcine Empire, within the week. Nick paid scant attention to politics, but he had picked up the crucial points from the Captain and from mess deck banter. Recently, the aged King Uthber had been deposed and replaced by a young princeling, Hulfitch of the house Ornstaufen. Prior to that, the Porcine Empire had been no great friend to the kingdom of Zoohaven, and it seemed clear that the royal court thought that new nobility on the throne was an ideal time to change that.

Lucky for them, the pride of the Procine navy, the _Tribunal_ , had been at sea during the coup. Its captain, the brutish and arrogant Lord Bronhelm, had sent word that he would turn against his own for as long as a traitor wore the crown. So, the Zoohaven Royal Navy had promoted one of their most promising officers to captain, granted her a full command, and given her of one of their best ships, the _Implacable_.

Unbelievably, she had resolutely requested that Nick be admitted to the crew on special conditions, and the admiralty had balked and very nearly demoted her. It made Nick smile to imagine the fur that situation must have ruffled. Threatening to refuse command over the promotion of a fox? Over some lice-bitten _pirate_ fox? In any case, it was how he came to be at sea on an imperial ship, tasked with settling the squabbles of entitled aristocrats who would almost certainly execute him regardless of his performance. Nick shook his head, heading up the stairs.

He emerged from below deck and took in a deep snoutfull of the outside air, thick with salt and rum and the sweat of labour. Even with his eyes closed he could paint a vivid picture of the deck: the repugnant scent of individual, unwashed sailors; oil and cheap soap; the...sharp note of fresh blood? He opened his eyes, and watched as an elk pushed by him, heading below deck to the ship’s surgeon. He was gripping his arm tightly, his fur spattered with red. Presumably it was the result of some mishap, but Nick might have guessed he was responsible from the way the elk scowled at him darkly. Nick, ever the gentlemammal, gave him a gracious bow, doffing his hat. Then he sauntered towards the quarterdeck, looking for his captain.

He found her speaking with one of the midshipmammals, and once she caught sight of him, she waved the uniformed badger away.

“Captain Hopps, Fake Lieutenant Nicholas Pibereus Wilde, reporting for duty.” Nick declared with a sweep of his paw, “Or Pretend Officer, or Master of Rodent-like Trickery. Whatever it is I go by. I can never remember, myself.”

Judith’s arms were folded, her face a mask of disapproval. Even though she was only a few feet tall, with glittering amethyst eyes and dark-blue, silver-trimmed finery, she could cast an imposing presence when needs demanded it. Her willow-thin rapier hung by her side – Nick could attest, from firsthand experience, that she back up her cool demeanour with it. You would be a fool to push Captain Judith Hopps too far, which Nick was.

“ _Honourary_ Lieutenant Wilde, you were requested on deck in full uniform,” Judith warned, “and yet here you stand, dressed like a street beggar. An explanation, please.”

“It’s a practical issue, Captain,” Nick insisted. “This coat is lucky, and I couldn’t, in good conscience, present myself to danger without it. Look, there’s evidence of its luck right here. Surely you haven’t forgotten about this one?” He popped his finger through the hole in the waist of his coat again, and wiggled it for emphasis. Judith did not look impressed.

“In common experience,” she said slowly, “things fall out of holes in coats. They are not features to be proud of.”

“Mhm, but you didn’t hire me because of my common experience, did you? It was very much my uncommon experience that prompted that decision. Speaking of which,” he said, gesturing to a desktop mounted to the quarterdeck, where a map had been spread out and secured with heavy pins, “shall we move on to business?”

Judy rolled her eyes, but Nick could feel her anger ebbing; as a tactician, Judy was in her element, and she was never happier than when she was organising a plan of attack.

“Honestly, Nick,” she said, moving towards the map table, “you need to take this seriously. Your freedom hangs by a strand, the very same they’ll hang you with for your past crimes if you aren’t careful. Alright, by our best estimate, the _Tribunal_ is about here.” She indicated to a black marker. “We should see its sails on the horizon within the next few days. This fine weather should hold, and if it does, we’ll be within striking range just as we sail by the Ribbons.” Here she pointed to an archipelago, the largest of whose islands were long, leach-like blobs. “The _Tribunal_ knows that for guns we have the advantage on her, but they would still turn and broadside us; it would be the best chance they’d have. If, however, we can force the engagement here, they will be sailing close to a stretch of reef." Her paw drummed on a patch of blue just off the islands. "They’ll lose the roll of the waves, and it will be that much harder for them to fire on our masts. The sun will be behind us. We’ll have every possible advantage.”

Judith crossed her arms, while Nick ran his finger along his muzzle. “You would need to have the skill to commit the _Tribunal_ to that patch of water, and that’s skill I’d reckon you have. It’s a good plan, Captain.”

“I know that,” Judith said through a small grin. “Now I need you to tell me why it will fail.”

“Bronhelm may be arrogant, but I doubt he’s stupid. He’ll want to attack head on, but he knows you have the edge in firepower. Now, if it were me,” Nick said with an irreverent grin, “I’d sail straight for the Ribbons, lose you amongst the islands, and sail on once night had fallen. But Bronhelm might well be able to put those islands to his own use. He could sail amidst them, using them as cover, forcing you to catch up to him and giving him a chance to put the odds in his favour.”

“Very well,” Judith replied, paw to chin. “He gets to pick the moment of engagement, but we still have him beaten when it comes to cannons–”

Nick shook his head. “Bronhelm isn’t going to fight you in line.”

Judith thought. “He’d aim to board us?”

“There’s a Porcine garrison on the far side of Blackrock,” said Nick. “It’s a good bet that he took on supplies there, just as we did. He could have also taken on extra soldiers, as well. What are the odds, after all, that these hogs on the far side of the ocean give a damp rag about the will of some newly-crowned prince?”

“Let’s presume this is his plan, then,” muttered Judith. “How would we give chase without exposing ourselves to such a danger?”

“Bronhelm will sail here,” said Nick, tapping the strait between the first two slender islands that gave the Ribbons their name. “The sooner he’s out of range of your bow guns, the better. He’d be expecting you to follow him in. So, you sail around to the other side and cut him off.”

Judith frowned. “To do that we’d need to sail around this.” She pointed to the next nearest island, a squat, featureless blob that the cartographer hadn’t even bothered to name. “It’s too wide. By the time we reach the other side, the _Tribunal_ could be anywhere; sailed off, or prepared well enough to come within grappling range. I won’t take that risk.”

Nick’s grin grew even wider, bordering on manic. “There’s no such risk to be taken, because you know something Bronhelm doesn’t; something that isn’t on this map. You know that this island isn’t connected.”

The look on Judith’s face was priceless, and Nick locked it away in his memory to savour later.

“There’s a passage running straight across the middle of here,” he continued, raking a line over the island with his claw. “It’s narrow, but wide enough to sail through, even in a ship this size. We’ll emerge on the other side directly abreast the _Tribunal_. He’ll have to engage you in a broadside.”

Judith was silent, searching the fox’s face with her piercing violet eyes.

“You’ve sailed amidst these islands before?” she asked.

“When I was smuggling spice out of the Ambrosias,” Nick replied. “Not so long ago that I’m likely to have forgotten.”

“Do you have dens here? Gold buried for lean times? A cutter anchored in some hidden cove?”

Nick laughed; he always found Judith’s speculations about his innate treachery hilarious. “I might well have,” he conceded, “and I suppose I could vanish off the deck while you catch Bronhelm with his trousers down and his curly tail out. Now you weigh the threat of the former against the gains of the latter.”

Judith grinned. “Your plan is tempting, Nick. Provided, of course, your words have currency.”

“And what if they don’t?” came a voice from behind.

Judith turned to find Felix, iron-rod straight and saluting crisply. “What if the pass is too narrow, or pure fantasy, and Bronhelm secures an advantage against us? What if the _Implacable_ flounders in shallow water, and we spend months trying to drag it free? These may be closer to certainties than possibilities.”

“There are risks,” replied Judith, “but taken to avoid greater harm. I can’t afford to come within boarding distance of the _Tribunal_.”

“Captain, I appreciate that you value Nick’s counsel, but please consider the situation. If the memory of this passage’s depth or location is off. If it has changed over the years. This might be a huge stake to gamble on unknown odds.”

Judith’s face hardened, and Felix averted his eyes and, impossibly, managed to stand even straighter. Second guessing a captain was not a sure strategy for remaining a lieutenant for long. If Nick noticed the change in Judith’s demeanour, it didn’t show; he was enjoying too much the visible strain on Felix of acting civil towards the fox in the Captain’s company.

“We will, on the provision that the _Tribunal_ does sail into the Ribbons, commit ourselves to this course of action on the strength of my informant’s information. If this channel proves fanciful, then Nick will surrender his privileges as a temporary officer, and will be bound, flogged and dispatched to Zoohaven to hang.”

“Ma’am.” Felix’s nod was hard and sharp enough to drive a nail through wood.

“Now go below and see that our gun crews have not become lax in their drills,” Judith finished, and Felix saluted and vanished immediately, as if the order had come at the end of a pistol. “Nick, you’re confined to quarters until we have sight of the _Tribunal_. For my assurance, and your own safety,” Judith ordered, and Nick offered a poor impersonation of the imperial salute.

“As you please, Captain,” he said, taking the stairs back to the main deck. “I do rather enjoy my accommodations, although I can’t in good conscience recommend the Blackrock rum we’ve taken on. Unless we’re running low on lamp oil, for which it would be perfect...”

“Nick,” Judith said sharply, and he froze mid-step. “That was no idle threat, before. If your value to me has run dry, I will see my prior mercy as a mistake and amend it. Personally. Am I clear?”

Nick flashed his ivory teeth. “As crystal, Ma’am,” he replied, and made his way below.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I wasn't going to bother with end notes, but nuts to it. This is the only portal I have to other weirdos who can't get Zootopia out of their heads. I'm happy to answer questions from the comments or whatever - hopefully that will be a carrot that keeps me updating.
> 
> So, why a pirate story? Mainly because I was getting a little tired of the original fanfiction story lines, and wondered if I could churn something out that didn't touch the well-known tropes - meeting the parents, festivals in BunnyBurrow, wedding proposals, someone's in hospital, etc. If you feel the same way, I encourage you to take an out-there premise and just run with it, you know? Hell, I know next to nothing about sailing, but a few googles later and suddenly I'm using the word 'mizzenmast'.
> 
> On that note, if you notice a mistake about nautical terms, or something grammar related, let me know - I adore criticism, even if I'm likely to dismiss it.


	2. First Blow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's Chapter 2. Guess I'm a terrifically fast glacier. Enjoy!

The _crack_ of the cannons washed over the decks of the _Implacable_ , and Judith smiled, watching as the balls of the bow guns whistled forward and landed a few hundred feet from the _Tribunal_ with a splash _._ In a few minutes, those balls would be falling terribly close to the _Tribunal’s_ rudder.

The enemy ship had been a minute blot on the horizon the night before, and now, as the sun approached its zenith, they were close enough to spot the Porcine sailors rushing about on the decks. Through her telescope, Judith had a view of the _Tribunal’s_ every detail: the rich, dark-green hue of its hull; the blood-red crosses of its ornamental flags; even the gold lettering stenciled into the woodwork above the quarter gallery windows – in the Old Tongue, it read _For King, For Country, For Honour._ She could not spot the enemy captain himself, but she doubted he’d remain unseen for long.

She collapsed her eyeglass as the fore-guns let loose another testing volley, and turned to Felix. “Not long now, and Bronhelm will have to commit: to sail on, and leave his rudder exposed; to turn, and ready to battle in line; or to make for the islands. It’s beginning to seem as if the upper paw is solidly ours.”

Felix stiffened, muttering, “If he does continue the course, we should try to keep some distance between us, in case they mean to kedge and regain some element of surprise.” His voice was steely, but there was a note of nervousness to it. He was still unseated by the daring of their proposed course of action.

Nick, on the other hand, who had emerged on deck just as the bow cannons had opened fire, was a portrait of confidence. He peered through his own, weather-beaten telescope, whistling in appreciation at the gunners’ accuracy.

“Those balls are falling mighty close, now,” he chortled. “Soon they’ll be installing skylights in the captain’s dining room.”

Judith, however, now had her eyes on the bleak, stony shores of the islands passing by. They were imposing, sandless bluffs topped with steaming, reeking jungle foliage. They were fast approaching the first gap between the Ribbons; soon, it would be decided if this was to be the backdrop for their first and final battle.

The minutes passed. The fore-gun crews kept up their threatening barrage, each shot landing well within the fleeing ship’s wake. One skillful round touched down barely a foot from the hull. Judith’s nose was twitching with anxious anticipation, her every nerve wound tight enough to burst.

And then she saw it; the _Tribunal’s_ rudder began to turn, biting into the water, and its jib sails bloomed as they faced fully into the wind. Slowly, the ship began to go about, exposing the details of its flanks. Through his spy-glass Nick could now see the layout of the ship, could see bare-chested hogs swinging through the rigging, could see the bores of the cannons facing menacingly their way. Amidst the commotion on the decks, he spotted a tall, elaborately-plumed helmet, perched on the head of a blustering, stocky figure with brutish, filed tusks. Bronhelm.

“Well, no one can say the Porcine nobility are lightweights,” Nick muttered. “I don’t think my sword is sharp enough to cut through all that ham. Honestly, we might need to roll a cannon right up his bustle and shoot from there…”

“Master! Hold our course steady!” Judy called, and the ram at the helm, Eli, nodded in assent. It was wise to follow them until the ship passed out of sight, ensuring that Bronhelm predicted a pursuit. She wanted to avoid giving event a faint indication of their plan; she imagined that Bronhelm was expecting them to sail past the island and meet them on the other side in open waters.

So, they held steady, and Judith watched as the _Tribunal_ began to vanish down the Ribbon’s passage. The sprawling jungle trees began to consume it, turning it into ever smaller glimpses, until it finally disappeared entirely.

“Master, to the port side! Full rudder!” Judith wailed, and a cry of triumph echoed down the ship as the _Implacable_ tilted and began to sail for the unnamed island; for their secret weapon, the razor in their boot.

Brimming with confidence, Judith fixed Nick with a glowing smirk. “Looks like you’ve earned your keep again, Nick. The Royal Navy needs ten more like you.”

“If there were ten of me, one of them would kill the other nine and take all their stuff,” Nick laughed. But he returned the smile, and its warmth was genuine.

It faltered, however, when he caught sight of Felix, whose cold, emotionless stare put Nick in mind of an animate statue, a heartless golem. The towering panther strode near, and whispered to him icily, “Earn your keep, Redcoat. If you dare to slip, the instruments of justice will find you out.”

 

 

Nick was as good as his word. In barely ten minutes they had reached the shore and spotted the channel he had spoken of. Its size had gone unembellished; it was only just broad enough to snugly fit the width of the _Implacable’s_ hull, and a few low-growing trees would be enough to cause trouble for the sails. But the trench was not sandy, so there was no threat of a shallow bar, and the wind rushing through the cliff-sides gave them the advantage of speed if not control.

As the _Implacable_ committed itself to the passage, Nick was reminded why he wasn’t surprised that this island had gone unchristened. It was an ugly volcanic lump, layer upon layer of coarse, jet basalt, protruding sharply at all angles like the blackened ribs of some dead, roasted behemoth. And even on that blasted terrain, an all manner of saplings, vines and shrubs had taken root. Nick didn’t dare imagine the bethorned, venomous nightmares that lurked it the jungle’s midst, any more than the deadly stone teeth that probably lurked just under the surface of the water.

Eli’s face was wrinkled in concentration, his tattooed arms working the wheel with deft precision. He had sailors along both sides calling information out to him, and the picture was clear; stray too far to either side, and the ship was doomed. A lesser Sailing Master would have split under the pressure.

That said, Nick thought Judith looked impossibly composed. She had trusted her success, and the lives of her crew, on the word of confessed and convicted scoundrel. If she had any misgivings about the current situation, they were well buried.

“Notice I haven’t gone anywhere,” Nick muttered to her. “That secret ship and hidden cache of wealth of mine mustn’t have been down this channel.”

Judith chuckled. “I’ve never accredited you with an overabundance of brains, Nick, but you know even I wouldn’t suspect you of trying to flee until the fighting starts. And this ship of yours is faster than the _Implacable_ at full sail?”

“No, you’re right. Now wouldn’t be the time. And I resent the implication that I’m scared of a drawn blade,” said Nick.

“You’ll have to prove to me that you’re no coward, then,” Judith replied, and then fixed him with a glare of not-entirely-unserious concern. “I mean it, Nick. The mere whiff of abandonment, and I’ll have you stuffed in a flour sack for the journey home.”

Nick was about the fire back that her purser was so tight-pawed that she’d probably have to barter for it when an excited call began to ring up the length of the ship. Felix caught the word.

“We’re approaching the mouth of the channel. The _Tribunal_ will be in sight and range shortly!”

Judith’s look dissolved into wicked delight, and she rushed to the raised perch of the quarterdeck, telescope in hand, Felix and Nick in tow. She saw the black cliffs dropping away, and there the _Tribunal_ was, sailing directly abreast them, riding high on the glittering waves, perfectly in range of their guns.

“All crews, take aim at their sails! Fire on my mark” cried Judy. The call was taken up by the midshipmammals who captained the gun crews. The gun ports snapped open. Culverins were wheeled forward.

And then there was a brief silence. Aching silence, heavy with mounting anticipation. The sound of a hundred held breaths.

“Fire!”

The concentrated blasts were incomparably loud, and filled the air with great, choking plumes of smoke. Nick didn’t need to see anything, however; he could hear the sharp whistle of the bar shot they had fired; half-spheres, connected at length by an iron rod, like a set of weightlifter’s dumbbells. They spun madly as they traced their deadly arcs through the sky, producing a high-pitched note.

Nick raised his spyglass again to watch them plunge into the masts of the _Tribunal._ He couldn’t contain a tiny cheer as the shots snipped through the ropes like scythes, or punched splinter-rimmed holes in the timber. Cannily, the crews had landed their shots on the foremast and mizzenmast; clipping the ships mainsails would have been a difficult task, and they didn’t need to bring the _Tribunal_ to a dead halt, just to keep their edge over it in maneuverability. But their work was far from complete.

“Crews, reload. All hands, brace for return fire!” Judith’s order rang over the deck. The sailors waited for the return salvo. Felix dropped low on his haunches, ready to take cover. Nick thumbed the lucky hole in his coat.

But the volley never came. Felix got back on his feet.

“This makes no sense,” he murmured, his eyes darting up and down the enemy ship. “They have the same range. Why aren’t they mounting a defence?”

Judith didn’t let it slow her down. The second order to fire was given, and soon there was another chorus of angry blasts. They had closed the distance between them and the _Tribunal_ , so this volley wrought utter destruction; within a few moments of the gun smoke clearing, Judith could see the _Tribunal’s_ two smaller masts begin to twist and crack, and finally break in two. They tipped over, swine tumbling from the descending height like circus acrobats, before raising torrential geysers as they plunged into the sea.

Even Felix let out a triumphant cry, the whole crew of the _Implacable_ cheering at a first blow well struck. But Nick was suddenly tapping Judith on the shoulder, his face unusually concerned.

“Carrots, look at the cannons on their lower deck,” he urged, peering through his spyglass. “See what they’re loading? Have you ever seen anything like that?”

Through her telescope, Judith saw the enemy stuffing some strange, rod-like instruments into the bores of their guns. They looked like…like spears?

“Sweet cheese and crackers…” Judith gasped, scanning the length of the ship. There were at least ten of them–

Suddenly, the _Tribunal_ made its reply. There was a series of muted pops, and the grapples the enemy had loaded went rocketing through the sky, trailing –- and as Judith saw this, her eyes widened is alarm –- great coils of rope in their wake.

The crew of the _Implacable_ hurled themselves to safety as the projectiles came crashing down on them. One or two buried themselves in the weather deck with reverberating _cracks_ ; at least one became snarled in the mast’s ropes; most of them plunged into the timber of the hull.

Immediate danger at bay, Judith rushed off the quarterdeck, heading amidships where one of the spears had come to rest. It had bored straight through the deck, its sharpened flukes now digging into the wood from the other side.

“Well,” said Nick, coming up beside her, “that boarding action we were hoping to avoid? I think the decision was just taken out of our paws…” He reached out and wrapped his claws around the shaft of the grapple, giving it a tug. “Nope, that is stuck fast. We are, as we say in very technical pirate jargon, _fucked_.”

Felix was staring at Nick as though he had sprouted horns, and may have been about to pick him up and lob him over the gunwale, when the horrible bass groan of wood under pressure filled the air, and the leads connecting the two ships drew taut. The _Implacable_ began to lean to port, and was slowly, inevitably, drawn through the water towards the _Tribunal._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I found a morsel of spare time and managed to put this together quicker than expected. It helps that these characters are a lot of fun to write; it also helps that people are already chiming in with appraisals and suggestions. Cheers, guys. Keep it up. It really makes it all the more exciting to write when you know who's reading.
> 
> One thing that I love about Zootopia fiction is that you get to be creative with the accommodations that have to be made for all the different animals, and sometimes those changes bleed into reality; for example, did the captain of the ship ACTUALLY stand at the helm? I mean, like, all the time? Or did he get someone else to turn the wheel? I mean, Nelson only had one arm. I can't see him standing at the controls, muttering about how 10 and 2 o'clock is useless when your clock's busted. In this universe, I figure that the captain's job is to command, and Judy wouldn't have the strength to spin the helm anyway.
> 
> Thanks again for taking the time to read!


	3. Take Cover

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3 ahoy! Er...away! Chapter 3 is done...

"Harley! Joshua! Take your crews below and find the hatchets! Cut the wood from around those hooks stuck in our hull as fast as you can! Don’t forget to bring axes up to the deck! Felix, get our best snipers on the main deck to cover us. Get MacHorn - he's the finest shot! Eli, rudder hard to starboard! And all gun crews at their cannons; you’re ready to fire inside the minute! The rest of you  _get these grapples off us!"_

Judith's voice was all iron, but inside she was nearly sick with dread. How had the enemy bested them so quickly and completely?  _How?_ She had played the perfect hand, held every advantage, and had still been trumped. And now they were totally exposed, being dragged through the water into the  _Tribunal's_ deadly embrace.

The grapple ropes groaned with the effort of yoking the _Implacable_ across the waves. She brought up her telescope and scanned the enemy ship. She could see where the ropes led to, disappearing into the gun ports or hatches on deck where, no doubt, they were spooling onto giant winches. She could see two or three of the deck's cannonades sitting idle, their spears unfired. Judith's face twisted with outrage.  _They hadn't even felt the need to fire all arms,_ she thought.

Beside her, Nick had drawn his blade, a hefty, battleworn cutlass. The grapples were connected to their ropes by a good ten feet of wrought-iron chain, and Nick didn't like his chances of splitting through it with his sword, but it demanded a try. He raised the cutlass over his head and brought it down with both paws, but received nothing for his effort beyond a shower of sparks and a fresh notch in his blade.

"It's no good; we'd need a hammer and cold chisel and a team of smiths to break these," Judith groaned. Just then, however, their plan B arrived, as the leopard Harley and his crew emerged from below deck, bundles of cloth in their arms. They unrolled these onto the deck, and several short-handled lumber hatchets clattered out.

"Cut the wood around these grapples and get them off us! Hurry, we don't have long," Judith ordered. The strongest sailors took up the axes and started hacking holes in the deck, trying desperately to dislodge the snare.

Then there was a loud blast, and one axe-wielding hippo stumbled backwards in a gout of blood, crashing to the ground. A second musket ball whipped by, gouging a chunk from the railing and missing Nick by inches. They had come within range of the enemy’s better shots. In response, sailors rushed to the cover of the gunwales, levelling muskets over the edge and opening fire. Suddenly the air was alive with deadly shot.

Nick leaped towards the gunwales, scooping a musket out of the paws of a felled sailor and propping it against the rail. It was about 80 yards to the enemy ship – a tough shot to take on solid ground and without return fire. Nick closed one eye and pressed his weight against the butt of the musket, his barrel following one Porcine sailor who was trying to barrel-load his musket. He held his breath.

Then he jumped, startled, as something heavy slammed down on the rail next to him. He saw the barrel of an absolutely monstrous paw-cannon, in the hands of an absolutely monstrous rhinoceros, MacHorn. The rifled barrel of his weapon must have been beyond an inch wide, and a bayonet the length and weight of a short sword tapered off its end. It bore the inscription _Absentia Misereri_ on its stock.

Nick looked at his own paltry weapon, and glanced back at MacHorn. “Perhaps I’ll leave this one in your paws?” he said with a grin. MacHorn raised one irritable eyebrow at the fox, and then sighted back towards the _Tribunal_. His breath paused, and the rifle exploded with fang-rattling power. On the enemy ship, one unfortunate sailor was lifted off their trotters and sent pinwheeling backwards across the deck.

Nick stared in wide-eyed shock for a moment, before shrinking back into cover as a return volley shredded the rail. MacHorn, on the other hand, simply set about reloading his beast of a firearm; evidently, he _was_ the cover. Nick was shortly joined by Felix and a gang of four other sailors, all clutching loaded muskets to their chests.

“Alright, lads! Three provide covering fire, the other two snipe the ropes on those grapples. Aim keen and fire true; we don’t have the luxury of time for missed shots. Clear?”

There was a chorus of ascent. Felix turned to Nick, fixing him with a look.

“Are you any good with that musket, Redcoat?” he asked.

“I know which end is the noisiest.”

“Try to keep the enemy’s lead off us for a few moments, then,” growled the panther, pressing his weapon to his chest. “Covering fire!”

The three other sailors propped their muskets against the ship and fired. Nick followed suit, sighting a hog sniper who was drawing a bead on some other target. Nick held his breath and discharged his musket, and watched at the ball slapped the pig in the shoulder, knocking him sideways and out of sight. Felix rose and propped his musket against the rail, and fired it with a spray of gun smoke. The shot cut through the rope of one of the grapples protruding from the lower hull. It held for a second, before the titanic forces between the ships led the remaining threads to fray and snap. The rope went slack, splashing into the water.

But there were still nine grapples thrust into the _Implacable_ hull, and the two ships were drawing dangerously close. Nick sprung up to find more ammunition, when something cracked violently in front of him, knocking him off his feet and sending him rolling backwards. When he came to rest, he realised a shot had bounced off his musket barrel, warping it beyond use.

“Better you than me,” he gasped, and scrambled onto his feet, falling back to the cover of the masts. There he found Judith, directing sailors to the bow of the ship to lay fire on the enemy’s snipers’ nest.

“We’d have a better chance of breathing underwater through a mouthful of toffee than cutting free of the _Tribunal!”_ Nick shouted. “This is going to come down to swords and axes!”

Judith was still collected, if breathing rapidly. “I want you and Felix amidships and on the very front! They’ll gain the advantage if they take ground on our deck!” She spun to her Orders Officer, who kept low as a ball bounced off the mast, throwing a handful of splinters and dust into the air. “Once our cannons are loaded, have them fire on the enemy gun ports! Blow some of those lines down! Maybe we can slow the speed we’re being drawn in at!”

“Wait! Wait, no!” Nick urged, catching her by the wrist.

Judith paused, looking at him in disbelief. Was this a joke? Was Nick really picking this moment to ruffle her fur?

“Severing those snares is a lost cause!” he continued. “Now you need to secure the advantage in the melee! You can do that with your cannons, but only if your timing is perfect!”

Judith glowered at him, her teeth bared, and Nick knew he was in dangerous territory, dancing a fine line between counsel and treachery. “What are you suggesting?” she growled.

“Hold your fire until we’re directly aside them -- until the very last possible moment -- and then fire point blank at their weather deck, on every enemy sailor fool enough to be standing in the open! Shrink their numbers advantage in one fell blow! You’ll blunt their sword before it’s even drawn!”

Judith bit her lip, her eyes darting from left to right. This was not the time to be indecisive. She opened her mouth to speak, when a horse cry resounded out of the bedlam.

“Enemy grapeshot from the cannonades! Take cover!”

Judith gasped, grabbed Nick by his coat collar and yanked him down on top of her. A split-second later, there was a terrific cacophony, the terrible whistle of a grapeshot barrage, and a swarm of lead pellets and shredded wood detonated across the ship. Shocked screams of pain followed it shortly.  When Judith opened her eyes, she found she was inches from Nick’s own boggling stare, his anxious breath ruffling the fur of her neck.

“Are you alive, Captain?” he asked.

“I’m fine. On your feet, please.”

They both stood quickly, Judith checking herself for injuries. She didn’t find so much as a scratch. “Are you hurt?” she asked Nick. Nick spread his coat, and found the grapeshot had bitten fresh holes all through it. None of the shot had touched his body.

He grinned like a drunk fool. “See, Ma’am? I told you holes were lucky…”

Judith let out a gasp of relieved laughter, thumping Nick on the arm, and then turned to her Orders Officer. “Riley, are you still breathing?”

“They’ve shot holes in my wool, Captain!” the sheep roared with indignity.

“Orders for the gun crews! Hold fire until my signal! And pack the cannons with all the spare pellets and scrap they can muster!”

“Yes, Captain!” Riley gave a salute and disappeared from the deck.

“Alright, Wilde! Let’s go see if these pigs care for the taste of Zoohavenite steel,” Judith called, and leaped away from the gun deck, rushing amidships on agile lapine paws.

She and Nick found cover next to Felix, who was cycling muskets with another sailor who reloaded them so he could keep up a steady stream of fire.

“Captain! We’re losing paws quickly! Those bloody swine are good shots!” Felix shouted.

“The Deck Paws know to take the injured below to the surgeon! Hold your position, and be ready to cut them down when they start coming over the edge!” Judith replied. She drew her pistol, an elegantly-wrought polished-walnut flintlock, and turned to Nick. “We fire as soon as they drop their gangplanks?”

“Barely a moment sooner,” Nick muttered. His eye was on one Porcine sailor who, while still holding cover behind some crates, had a weighted rope in his trotter. He was spinning it, and Nick figured the pig was still testing the distance between the two ships in his mind, waiting until he was sure the grapple would make it.

“Cannons–”

“Wait!” Nick hissed. The pig was drawing back for a throw.

Felix fired his musket again, and then tossed it aside, drawing his blade and pistol. “Those pigs mean to cross to our ship!” he cried. “Ready your small arms!” Sailors all around began dropping unloaded muskets and reaching for sword handles.

Nick’s pig stepped out of cover, and gave his grapple a mighty heave, sending it spinning through the air towards the _Implacable’s_ rigging.

“Now!” Nick cried.

“Fire!”

It was apocalyptic. The sound of every cannon, from the weather to lower deck, blasting towards the enemy shook the world itself. Sent pillars of smoke rocketing into the sky. Choked the sun. Shook every tooth and deafened every ear aboard the _Implacable._

The assault turned the enemy deck into an abattoir - a cascade of wood splinters, scattershot and other ruinous shrapnel. The cannon balls punched through timbers with ease, sending razor-sharp fragments flying in all directions. Sailors slumped, gaping wounds in their chests. Some screamed over missing arms and legs. The pig throwing the first grapple vanished in a cloud of red mist.

Finally, the chaos ceased, and the noise of the guns was replaced by the harmonizing cries of the injured and dying, a symphony of anguish.

“Skies of fire…” Felix breathed, mouth agape. “It’s the jaws of death…”

“The mouth of hell…” another sailor gasped.

“That will have shaken them, but they’re far from beaten!” Judith called. “Make ready for combat!”

She was underscored by the whistle of thrown boarding ropes, hurling out of the swirling cloud of cannon smoke, catching on ropes and sails and beams, drawing taut as blood-thirsty swine, recovered from the shock of the Zoohaven tactics, readied to swing aboard.

Judith cast a quick look to Nick, who had cutlass and pistol at hand as well. “By the way, did you call me Carrots back there, Nick?” she asked.

“Uh…I wouldn’t dream…”

“I’m sure I heard it.”

“I might have. Yes.”

“I’m going to flog you for that,” she said with a smirk.

“I certainly hope I survive to be flogged,” replied Nick.

Then, through the haze, Judith heard the thump of boots; saw a shape emerging, axe in one hand, the other drawing a dagger, and she raised her pistol.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am going to have to slow down at some point, but I really am shocked by how much fun writing this story is. It's my first time writing fan fiction; the way it gives you a collection of resources in backgrounds, motivations and mannerisms, and just lets you add, subtract and adorn with features in which ever way suits you, is pretty neat.
> 
> What isn't neat is how tough it is to keep the minor details in check, particularly when they relate to naval warfare. I find I'm doing a lot of desperate Googling of things like 'effective musket range' and 'reloading sequence' and 'typical distance of ship engagement' and 'high-quality antique wood for stocks' and other random shit. We don't even use imperial measurements in this country! At the moment I'm torn between drawing top-down, frame-by-frame sketches of how I want the battle to go, and just not giving a sack of beans about it. If you have a technique or idea that works well, please share. I'm sure hack action writers everywhere will be very grateful.
> 
> Next chapter and swordplay won't be too far off.


	4. One Shot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swore I wasn't going to post until mid-week, but I've been sick and had a shit day, so this is how I'm cheering myself up. This has been by far my favourite chapter to write. Enjoy!

The splinter was easily five inches long and as broad around as a lion’s claw. The surgeon whistled as he extracted it with his forceps. “That was a near miss,” he mused, dabbing the gouged flesh of the shoulder with a cloth. “An inch or two closer the neck, and I’d be pulling this out of your jugular.”

Bronhelm scowled at his doctor, his chest heaving with indignation. “Spare me your hypotheticals, Ernst. I won’t be killed by a fleck of wood; if I am, it had better be as long as a blasted lance!” He looked at the tear the projectile had rent in his jacket’s shoulder, and his face soured further. “And look at this!  Do these Zoohavenite heathens know the cost of a good tailor, huh? Do they know the value of imported cotton? Do they?  I’ll be taking compensation from them in spilled blood for this, I will!  Come on Ernst, you girl’s blouse! Get a bandage over that bloody hole and let’s get on with it!”

“Hold still please, sir,” the surgeon muttered, pressing a wad of gauze over the injury, holding it in place as best he could with bandages. But Bronhelm was done waiting, and pulled away from the doctor’s ministrations, straightening his jacket.

“Alright, hogs!” he blustered gruffly, addressing his guard of honour, muscled swine with elegant tunics and finely crafted swords. “Those sick curs, those _mixed species_ , are over there right now, putting the sword to your fine brethren! Putting the shot to them! And for what? For a traitor in a false crown! For a fake in your true king’s colours!  By this day’s end, that diseased King Lionheart and all his repugnant courtiers at Zooport will know the cost of drawing steel against the rightful sons of the glorious Porcine empire! Now go wet the decks with their blood, and get me the head of this Captain Hopps!”

The soldiers cheered, snorting and shaking their tusks, and rushed towards the melee. Bronhelm paused before his surgeon for a moment, gesturing towards the tattered bodies Judith’s cannon blasts had left behind.

“Get these scraps of flesh off my deck. It’s unsightly.” Then he was gone.

 

 

The pistol shot went straight through the hog’s neck, putting a look of shock across the sailor’s face before he went slack and collapsed. Judith sheathed her first pistol and went for her second, firing at the back of another hog who was drawing a blade, knocking him to the floor.

Across from her, Nick didn’t even wait for the pigs to land, sighting one clinging to a rope in mid-swing and striking him right between the eyes.  His body splashed down between the two ships. But another eager sailor with a dagger between his teeth took his place faster than Nick could hope to reload. He stood up, sheathing his pistol and flourishing his cutlass. The swinging hog let go his rope and flew straight into Nick, knocking him down with his superior weight. Nick landed hard on his shoulder, and twisted his head to the left just in time to avoid the pig’s dagger as it sunk into the wood.

Some keen shot fired a musket their way, and the ball struck the back of the assailant’s head, crumbling his skull and emptying its contents onto the deck. Nick winced at the gore and pushed the dead hog away with his hind paws, wrenching the dagger out of the ground and getting to his feet.

Another two pigs were crossing the divide, one skewering a hapless wolf through the stomach as he landed. The other turned to Nick, brandishing a boarding axe. With a snarl, Nick hurled the knife through the air, sinking it into the axe-wielder’s gut. He howled, mouth hanging open in pain, his axe slipping from numbed fingers. His comrade pushed the dead wolf aside and advanced quickly, sword raised for a lusty sideways cut.

Then, something grey blurred by, almost invisible in the still drifting smoke. The pig stopped dead in his tracks, trotters going to his sliced throat, wheezing as he gasped through pipes that weren’t even connected to his lungs. Nick turned to the side and saw Judith rising to her feet, flicking her blade to shake off the blood.

“Watch your back, Nick! I need you in one piece!” she quipped. To the side, Nick spotted a hog drawing a pistol, and he turned with his sword ready.

He needn’t have bothered; Felix came rocketing in from Nick’s periphery, ramming the sailor back against the gunwale with such ferocity that the wood buckled. With a roar, he plunged his blade through the pig’s torso, passing it straight through and into the timber behind. Then he finished him with a vicious rake of his claws across the shrieking sailor’s throat.

It wasn’t the first time Nick had seen Felix fight. It was the first time he had seen him fight so ruthlessly. It was _definitely_ the last time Nick would look at the panther without a pang of cold fear.

By now, the ships had drawn so close that the enemy could bridge the gap with their gangplanks, and one – two – three – four came slamming down between the decks, weighted snares burrowing into the timber to hold them in place. Three had been laid at the ship’s mid-point and one closer to the bow, over which a trio of hogs were already clambering. Then Nick spotted MacHorn, bracing himself from the other side of the deck and bringing his rifle to bear. It fired with reverberating force, and all three hogs were yanked off their feet, as though they were hoisted away on wires. MacHorn then rushed forward and met the next pig who was brave enough to attempt the crossing with a blow from his bayonet. He didn’t so much cut the sailor as drive his head down into his neck, leaving something akin to a smashed watermelon in its place. The hog slumped off the plank into the water.

“I think MacHorn has the bow covered,” Nick muttered, turning back to the fray. Judith had slain two more sailors and was menacing a third, and Felix had snatched up an unfired musket and discharged it, trying to slow the advancing sailors. The Zoohavenite crew had rallied amidships, pressing against the pressing wave of enemies, but their numbers simply weren’t enough. Sooner or later, they would have to retreat, and to where?

Judith seemed to have noticed the problem as well, and she deftly cut her last adversary across his legs, taking her blade to his throat as he fell. Then she slipped back to the mast where Nick was.

“We have to withdraw to the quarter deck!” she shouted, her voice barely audible above the pistol fire and the ring of clashing steel. “We can use the height of the deck to keep an advantage while they try to fight up the stairs!”

“Alright–”

Nick was interrupted as a ball swept across his shoulder -- not passing straight through, but taking a fistful of meat and fur as it went. He collapsed with a hiss of pain, Judith catching him before he hit the ground.

“Son of a Porcine whore!” Nick spat, looking at the blood running down his shoulder, turning his undershirt red.

“Are you alive?” Judith demanded.

“And my right arm, too!” Nick swore, taking his cutlass in his left paw. “My sword arm! You know who I fight like with my left arm? Like you, Judith! I’ll be dead in a heartbeat!”

“Get yourself to the quarter deck, and cover our retreat,” Judith began, when a shadowy blur from the corner of her vision led her to give Nick a mighty shove, sending him stumbling bow-ward and her sliding back. A furious axe swing passed through the space they had occupied, splitting a deep groove in the deck.  Judith rose to her feet, and realised she had dropped her sabre. She made for her sword, but the axe-hog recovered his weapon and brandished it with murderous intent. She spun to retreat instead, rushing back towards the quarter deck with the other sailors. Over her shoulder, she caught sight of Nick being forced in the opposite direction, desperately trying to keep three hogs at bay, parrying their attacks with his left arm as best he could. But it was obvious he was outmatched, and Judith gulped as she realised there was nothing she could do.

Bronhelm had finally strode aboard the _Implacable_ at the main deck. He had both sabre and pistols at his side, but he also carried a large, gold-adorned blunderbuss with a wide, trumpet barrel. A pair of ornamental tusks curled away from its stock, and the word _Razorback_ was inscribed along its length. When a stray Zoohavenite sailor made a lunge at the captain with his sword, Bronhelm turned and discharged the scattergun, shredding the zebra from waist to ear tip.

“I hope it was a life well lived,” Bronhelm snarled through a grin, and slung the blunderbuss over his back, drawing his dueling pistols. Judith had seen Bronhelm’s entrance, and she cursed under her breath; _what a time to have no loaded weapon at hand!_

She made it up the stairs to the helm, where Felix was organising a cordon of musketeers to try and hold the advancing hogs at bay. Already shots were streaming down the deck, knocking enemy sailors off their feet. But they were starting to run low on shot and powder, and several of the Zoohavenites had taken up spears to defend the stairways instead. There was slim chance that the outnumbered pikemammals would achieve anything beyond slowing them down.

Felix was rolling his last shot down the barrel of his musket when something blasted through the railing of the deck. Felix dropped with a snarl, clutching at his leg. At least three solid splinters had punched into him, sticking out of his thigh like crossbow quarrels.

“Felix!” Judith shouted, and started to head towards him. A solid weight suddenly smacked against her forehead, and for a moment her vision was whitewashed, the sounds bleeding together into a hideous high-pitched drone. She recovered quickly though, and realised she was staring at the floor through just one eye. Half her vision was murky and black. She had taken a glancing shot over her eye, and her sight was partly spoiled by her own blood.  Wincing, she tried to collect her bearings, when a strong pair of arms lifted her off the ground and hauled her away. She watched helplessly as a crew of hogs with swords emerged from the left stairwell, cutting down the Blue Jackets who stayed to defy them.

“Where are we going?” Judith moaned, and realised it was Felix’s strong paws that were around her. “Where are we going, Felix!?” she repeated, outrage creeping into her voice. “Take me back to the fight!”

“The fight is lost!” Felix roared, and with a free paw he grabbed the doors to the storage deck and wrenched them open. Then he stepped through, dropped Judith on the ground, and slammed the gate behind them.

Judith was on all fours, trying to summon the will to stand. Her mind was a soup of nausea, her throat laced with the bitter tinge of bile. She tried to scoop some of the blood out of her right eye.

Behind her, Felix grunted as he hefted a beam in place to seal the doors shut. He could hear the commotion outside; the few of their remaining number surrendering or being slaughtered. The locked door would hold them off, but with enough time and hands, they would hack their way through that as well. They had run out of redoubts to fall back to.

“Felix,” Judith mumbled, still struggling to rise, “what are we doing in here? Why have we fled the battle? I order you–”

“You’re no use to us if you’re dead,” the panther hissed, slumped against the wall, taking the weight off his butchered leg.

“We’re of less use if we’re cowards!” Judith scathed, and suddenly the sickness overtook her. She rolled to the side, losing the contents of her stomach.

Once she was done retching, Felix went and knelt by her side. “Captain, my race is run. I can barely hold up my own weight. You don’t even have a weapon! I’d believe you would go on fighting, even against these impossible odds. But it would be a hopeless stand. A waste. Hopeful waiting is the better bet; there might be a light in the darkness still.”

“Where is this light then, Felix? Where is this hope?” Judith barked. She didn’t believe it for a second. The _Implacable_ was lost. She had failed.

A deep voice boomed from beyond the sealed doorway. “Captain! Captain Judith Hopps! Are you in there, skulking in the dark? Can you hear me with those abominable ears?”

Felix was silent. Judith narrowed her eyes.

“If you can, then know two things: the first, I am Captain Otto Julian Bronhelm, third of that name, and I never take prisoners; the second, I will order my soldiers to fire this hold if you don’t lay down your arms and tell your remaining crew of ill-fits to surrender. Fail to do this, and they will pay your debts in blood.”

“I thought you said you were unfamiliar with the practice of taking prisoners!” Judith responded. “You’re a poor liar, Bronhelm; as soon as our paws are in the air, you’ll gut us and throw our corpses in the sea!”

Bronhelm snorted outside, amused. “Just because I don’t take prisoners doesn’t mean I have to murder you. You have slain a great number of my sailors today, Hopps. Not enough to worry my cause, but enough that I’m willing to bargain to avoid further losses. And, since you put the guns to my ship, I find I am in need of a serviceable vessel. If you surrender, and your crew follows your example, I will give you the _Tribunal_  -- absent its remaining mast, of course. For that, and your lives, I only ask you surrender the _Implacable_ to me. Ugly and pestilent though it most certainly is, I need it intact more than I need to spill your blood.”

Judith gnawed her lip, her eyes darting to and fro. This was a nightmare -- they had lost every scrap of leverage, and Bronhelm’s words were sounding reasonable. She thought she'd had the capacity for cowardice drummed out during her while training at the Naval Academy, but was it really cowardice when there were no options left? All that stopped her assent was her distrust of the Porcine lord.

“He won’t honour the arrangement,” Judith whispered to Felix. “He won’t. He’s a counterfeit diplomat. If we lay down arms, I’ll be killed and you’ll be killed and everyone left will be bodies in the ocean by sundown.”

Felix’s lip twisted. Then he drew a short dagger from his belt and handed it to Judith. “I have my sword, and my claws. I’ll exit first, and draw their attacks. You go between my legs and aim for Bronhelm’s neck. We’ll get one shot.”

Judith was frozen, but finally nodded. “One shot.”

“It’s been an honour, Captain.”

Bronhelm’s blustering roar shattered the silence. “It’s an easy decision to make, Hopps! I can’t imagine what is giving you pause! So, you have until my soldiers cut through these walls, and then your fate is your own doing! Axes!”

The throaty _clunk_ of blades against wood started to fill the cabin. Felix slouched against the door, his hands on the beam. He swallowed, and fixed Judith with a stare.

“Ready?”

Judith turned the dagger over in her paw. She nodded.

Suddenly, a resonating clatter sounded from beneath their feet. Judith spun, nearly bowled over with shock. Felix paused, staring at the floor.

The clatter became the steady _clank_ of metal on metal -- of gears turning -- and slowly, just visible in the gloom, a square of the floor split in two and began to fall away to the sides. It was the trap door to the lower storage deck; someone was opening it from the other side.

When the doors had parted, Judith made her way to the opening and peered over the lip, Felix leaning over beside her.

There, standing in the shadows, covered in blood and scratched to ribbons, but smiling from ear to ear, was Nick.

“Carrots,” he called softly, leaning on his cutlass, “you’ll be delighted to learn I haven’t been skewered like a cob of corn. Felix, you probably less so. Now maybe you’d like to come down here and flog me for insubordination.”

Judith couldn’t keep the smile of her face, although she stamped down on the tear that threatened to well in her good eye. She turned to Felix. “You first; you can catch me.”

Felix clenched his teeth, and with a nod he lowered his legs over the edge and dropped into the space below, landing with a splash in a layer of water. He growled in pain, his leg folding underneath him, but he recovered quickly and held up his paws for Judith.

Behind her, one brutal axe stroke left a split in the timber, a bead of light rushing in. Judith dived off the edge, landing safely in Felix’s paws.

“Nick, you Master of Rodent-like Trickery! How the damned hell did you sneak your way down here?”

“There’s a hatch at the fore of the ship, just before the bowsprit, that leads down into the hull,” Nick said. “MacHorn and the others were holding the forecastle just fine without me, so I figured my services were better spent back here.”

“A fine story,” mumbled Felix, “and we are saved, momentarily. But we’re still outnumbered and depleted. How do we take back the leverage in this fight, fox?”

Nick’s lip trembled in mock hurt. “Sir, I am wounded -- literally and figuratively. Do you really think I’d come to your rescue without plan to reverse the odds? How have you not noticed the smell?”

It struck Judith like a lightning bolt; the permeating stink of alcohol. She looked at the liquid sloshing under foot.

“This isn’t water, is it?” she said.

A quick glace revealed the walls of the hold were stocked, layer on layer, with barrels of reeking Blackrock rum. The head of every barrel had been smashed open, their contents sloshing out.

“Now,” Nick finished, “if we are done with pleasantries, I suggest we head back towards the front of the ship. There’s a fight to be won, and this–” he waved at the accumulating alcohol “–this looks, quite frankly, very dangerous.”

Without another word, the injured trio vanished into the hold, while above them the din of woodcutting halted. A hole just large enough to pass something through was now open in the wall of the storage room.  On Bronhelm’s nod, a soldier struck a flint over a wrapped torch, which burst into licking orange flame.

“My apologies, Rabbit,” he called, “but not all captaincies are destined to end in glory.  Give my regards to the angels in the Afterworld!”

With that, the Porcine sailor tossed the lit torch through the gap, laughing as he did. It tumbled through the air, lighting the interior of the storage deck, and vanishing into the lower hold.

As it turned out, Nick was wise to have avoided testing the flammability of the rum.

It started as a sheet of angry fire rushing across the surface of the spillage on the hold’s floor. Quickly, the searching flames rushed up the streams pouring from the barrels, consuming them in an instant. A moment later, just as a hog aimed to toss a second torch through the breach, the whole hold burst into a pillar of inferno that rushed towards the ceiling, looking for any escape.

The door was blasted clear off its hinges. The roof trembled and collapsed. The walls split apart, loosing torrents of fire wherever they relented. The conflagration consumed everything, and spent it into the sky as unholy black exhaust.

Soon the shock of the blast subsided, leaving the roar of the flames and a blooming tower of smoke and hot ash. From the bow of the ship, where the remaining Zoohavenite sailors were mounting a brave defence, the fighting came to a standstill. All eyes, Porcine and other, watched the swirling, pitch-dark cloud in shocked silence.

And then, drifting across the air like haunting ghosts, came the cries.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing action is a lot of fun, and not as hard as I thought - you just kind of envision it as a movie, pin down the set pieces and write the action taking place in between. I have found my work getting very preposition heavy, however, as I feel the need to describe things happening across, or near, or by, or to the left of, or under or over or in the bloody middle of the mast or main deck or wherever. The best trick I could find to get around that? Favour phrases starting with present participles; -ing forms of verbs. They seemed to vacuum up whole chucks of where-it-happened words and leave clean, understandable sentences behind.
> 
> Also, you probably noticed that the rum-explosion had been hinted back in Chapter 1. If you want to improve your writing, this is the best thing I can suggest - plan ahead. Drop breadcrumbs early on and have them pay off. For example, I've dropped a couple in the chapter about how things are going to end. Lemme know if I'm not half as clever as I feel, if they stand out like swollen balls.
> 
> Chapter 5 is under construction. I kind of feel like Judith needs to be put back in her rightful place - everyone has been shitting on her command lately...


	5. Victory, and the Unsung Heroes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's chapter 5; belated, over-rated, but correctly punctuated. Enjoy!

In the gloom of the hold, Judith heard the explosion as a muted roar, a vengeful whisper, accompanied by the high squeals of hogs burning to death. She closed off the part of herself that would remember that horrific sound when she was trying to sleep, and focused on holding still as Felix checked her head injury.

"It's a shallow wound," he concluded. "Probably a concussion, but nothing worse." Felix had wound a tight bandage around his own injury, but it was clear from his slouched posture and the tremble in his leg that he was more than just grazed. Luckily, it was the only damage he had taken.

Nick, on the other hand, looked like he had been dragged through a thornbush, and broken glass shortly after. At least two sabrestrokes had cut him deeply on the arm and chest, and on his right the blood from his musket wound had begun to pool in his sleeve. He was lucky none of the blows had struck arteries or organs.

"Alright," Judith said, "we've put a stop to their advance, and some spectacle it was. Now we need to push them and retake the initiative; that means securing the main deck. Once we've regrouped, we hit them with a volley of musket fire to thin their remaining ranks, and we finish them off in the melee. Nick, how many of our number were remaining when last you saw?"

“At least 30, including that lumbering juggernaut you call a Master Gunner. He’s worth two dozen able paws in a fight, at least.”

“We might just have square odds, then,” Judith murmured. “Felix? Nick? I fear I must command that we take to the front again. Are you able?”

“As long as I have blood and breath left,” said Felix.

“I won’t have either, soon,” Nick groused, but he raised his sword all the same.

Judith felt her chest heave with pride. These two mammals –- this panther, who had sworn his life to her service; this fox, whom everyone thought fit only to dangle at the end of a rope –- would shed their last ounce of blood for her. They would go to their graves on her word, because honour demanded such a sacrifice. They were heroes who would surely go unsung.

She dared not say a word. They were mere emotions, liabilities. Her men deserved a commander cut from sterner stone. She simply nodded, and the three of them clambered up the waiting ladder to the deck above.

 

 

The stink woke Bronhelm. The cloying reek of dead things, burned things.

He’d only be unconscious for a second, but he felt like he’d been out for hours. He went to stand, and realised something heavy had trapped his legs. Looking down, he saw a blackened body lying across his lower half, shivering with post-mortem twitches. He kicked it off with a grunt, and got unsteadily to his feet.

All around him the twisted and ash-black forms of his former command lay about; some were still, some were desperately clawing at themselves, as if trying to shake free of their own burned skin. Bronhelm simply stared, eyes unblinking.

_What the devil had just happened?_

Above him, the mushrooming cloud of smoke continued to swell, fed by the crackling flames that were now spreading to the deck. He glanced down, and realised that the explosion had blackened the front of his uniform. The fabric sagged where three of his buttons had gone missing. He reached up to his crown and took down his plumed helm. It was a truly ornate treasure, wrought in fine bronze and plated with gold, festooned with a leaping boar who trailed a dyed green mane. He had commissioned it from Porcinia’s finest armourer upon his admittance to the Fellowhip of High Captains -- a great honour. Now, it has a black tinge to it, one of the ornamental emeralds marking the boar’s eyes had been blown free, and the plumage was reduced by the flames to short bristles.

He growled, which grew to an incensed shriek as he tossed the ruined helm aside. Shortly his sword came to hand, and he waved it like a slaver’s lash as he howled at his remaining soldiers.

“On your feet, you wastes of leather! You sacks of reeking offal! Get your swords! Get your pistols! I want every last unclean Zoohavenite whore gutted and flayed before the day is out! Except Hopps -- you’re not to touch a hair on her scrawny head, do you hear me?  Shackle her and bring her to me! She will suffer for this; her fate will become the new measure of cruelty! Well, prepare yourselves, you pathetic litter runts!”

Before the force of his blustering, the hogs that could stand rose on shaking legs. Almost none were untouched by the blast; everywhere there was charred fabric, or flesh scoured and wrinkled by the heat. But Bronhelm’s displeasure was not something to risk, especially while his anger burned full and hot. Without comment, the survivors drew their swords, reloaded their pistols, and headed towards the bow of the ship, Bronhelm’s insulting commands following them every step.

 

 

 

The hatch swung open, and Judith clambered out into the afternoon sun. Felix followed her shortly, struggling to pull his wounded leg over the rim. Then, with a lop-sided frown, he reached back down and plucked out the wounded fox, hauling him up by the scruff of his neck.

“Much obliged, friend,” Nick snarked. Felix didn’t have the energy to threaten him with physical harm.

The last few hogs daring to present arms were being chased at swordpoint to the aft of the ship, and those that had surrendered had their arms and legs bound behind their backs with rope, hessian gags jammed in their quivering snouts. Judith’s reappearance, along with the apparent victory in this sortie, caused a stir amongst the remaining Zoohavenite sailors.

“Captain! Captain, that firestorm! Was that your doing?” one wide-eyed sailor hooted.

“Captain, let us take the fire to them! Let us take the ship back!”

“Three cheers for Captain Hopps!”

MacHorn pushed to the front of the jostling bodies, his weapon hugged against his chest. He looked like a marble bust that had been taken to by an enraged sculptor; groves and gouges covered his body, and his tunic had been shredded by Porcine sword and shot. One near miss has taken most of his ear, leaving a sad curl of bloody skin. He bowed slightly, and mumbled in a deep voice, “Captain, I can still fight.”

Judith looked around at her, stirred by their fervour. They were drunk on the promise of victory, and she would gladly overfill their cups.

“Sons of Zoohaven! You have put a deep scratch on Porcine pride today, have no doubt. But we are not here to injure their pride; we are here to slit their wretched throats, and bury their remains so deep that even the Dead Ship won’t take them for their crew!”

A triumphant cry went up, and she continued, “All who are able, take up your loaded muskets! We make way to the main deck, and when the enemy present themselves, the first line will fire, and then crouch down so the second line can strike! Then we rush them with bayonets before they can even count their losses!”

A search for discarded muskets and spare shot went up. Even with his ruined arm, Nick had somehow managed to reload both his pistols.

“I can’t promise any prize marksmanship from my left paw,” joked.

“You don’t need to win any prizes,” Judith assured him, loading pellet shot into her own pistols. “Just don’t hit the wrong side.”

With their weapons loaded, the Zoohavenite corps formed up, largest mammals at the back to better the aim of their volley. With one final hurrah, the beleaguered Blue Jackets rushed off the forecastle and headed amidships, ready for the final engagement.

As they came onto the main deck, Judith caught a glimpse of the damage Nick’s handiwork had done. The churning black cloud had grown to several times the size of the ship entire, and was constantly fed as the flames continued to devour whatever they could seize that would burn. She could see the collapsed roof of the storage hold, could see where the fire was spreading to the poop deck, no doubt gutting the captain’s gallery as it went. Momentarily her breath caught in her throat; she had no desire to see the _Implacable_ reduced to burned timbers. Nursing it back to it’s former glory from this state would be some task.

They were passing the main mast when the first few hogs, standing at the stairs connecting the main and gun decks, pointed them out with a cry. One discharged a pistol, although the shot sunk into the deck without effect.

“All muskets! Prepare your volley line!” Judith commanded, and the smaller mammals stepped forward, weapons levelled at the enemy. A second pistol shot ricocheted somewhat closer; still the line held its nerve. The larger mammals came up behind them, muskets stowed. The enemy who exposed themselves to fire their weapons saw the shot line and began diving away, eyes wide with fright.

“Fire!” Judith shouted, and the muskets reports filled the deck with smoke and noise. She had to admit to being impressed; bloodied, exhausted and facing a final charge, her soldiers shot true, and several pigs collapsed with pained shrieks.

The forward line then dropped to their knees, and the rear aimed and unleashed a biting second salvo. A few more enemies fell.

“Bayonets charge!” Judith cried, and the line rushed forward, screaming, bloodhungry, blades raised and thrust forward like spears, like the charge of an ancient army from a time of leather and mail, of heroes and great deeds. Behind them all able mammals had their swords drawn, adding to the din with their own howls.

In the advance, Judith spied her dropped rapier and snatched it up. One sniper appeared at the parapets, musket aimed into the advance. Judith levelled and fired her pistol, peppering the hog across the neck and throat with pellet shot.

As the charge met the stairs to the gun deck, a volley of pistol fire came in response, and finally struck and felled one of their number. Axes came bearing down as well, but they were turned aside by the thrust of bayonet points. Felix, at the forefront of the charge, threw himself into a mighty dash, running his bayonet through one sailor and lifting him shrieking into the air, like a flag being run up a pole. Then he was tossed aside and Felix drew his sword, taking it to the next hog and raising sparks as their steel bit at each other.

Nick was not far behind. One perilous thrust came rushing at his throat and he turned it aside, snarling. He parried a second, a third, and caught the fourth when he put his blade’s tip through the enemy’s curved hilt. There was a sharp twist, and the sword, along with two of the pig’s fingers, went sailing away.  He was easily slain after that.

A shadowy blur at the corner of his eye led Nick to drop to the floor, and a two-handed blade hacked into the timber of the mast. He took his stance across from this new opponent, a bulky porker dressed in a deep green doublet adorned with gold thread, and he grinned as the officer unstuck his blade.

“That’s a tremendously long sword you have their, leather-sack!” he called, and the officer fixed him with a baleful glare. “Now show me you don’t know how to use it!”

“You fleabait!” the pig swore, and came at him with a terrible double-pawed swing, which Nick dodged. The officer recovered quickly, however, and chased him with a sideways swipe which Nick managed to block. The hog was faster than appearances allowed, Nick thought, and he cursed inwardly as he realised exactly how exhausted he was. He blocked the next swipe, and the third, each sending jolts through his body, before the fourth one knocked him off centre. The advantage his, the officer stepped forward to deal the fatal blow, snorting murderously.

His laughter became a shriek of pain, however, as Nick swiftly drew one pistol and fired it into the pig’s foot, blowing an angry red crater right through his boot. Nick danced in towards his howling opponent, ready to put him down. He did not expect the pig’s elbow to come rushing towards him, thought, and his world exploded into painful light as it connected with his jaw. When his vision cleared, his opponent had both their swords in his hands, and began to advance with lethal intent.

“Duck, fox!” came a command from behind. Nick flopped to the deck, and Felix dived over the top of him, slamming into their foe with a cannonball’s velocity, sending them both tumbling across the deck for some distance until they finally slid apart. Felix was the only one to stir afterwards; his enemy’s throat had been cut to trenches by his claws.

“Now that was some tackle!” Nick laughed, rushing towards the panther. “I haven’t a clue why you even bother to carry a sword…” He stopped when he saw that Felix had been run through with Nick’s own blade. Off to the side, thankfully; through flesh and muscle only, but a foul wound all the same.

“Take your damned sword back,” Felix growled. “It’s making it hard to breathe...”

Nick took the handle and pulled the sword free, drawing a vicious snarl of pain from the injured panther. Then he offered him his paw, which Felix took without comment.

“Are you fit to stand?” Nick asked, drawing Felix onto his feet.

“Well isn’t this treasurable,” came a voice from behind, dripping with scorn.

The duo turned, finding themselves face to face with an apparition from the depths of the underworld. Blackened with soot, spattered with blood, Bronhelm’s eyes burned with an otherworldly fury, like some fairybook demon with no capacity for feeling beyond blind anger.

His sword was in his left arm, and tucked under his right was his loaded blunderbuss, finger at the trigger. Nick’s eyes were locked on it. He thought about the fastest pistol draw he had ever managed. He thought about his damaged right arm, caked with drying blood. Bronhelm spat.

“A fox and a panther, hey? Brothers in arms. The world will be a cleaner place without you,” he snarled, and turned the blunderbuss towards them.

Nick twisted as he drew, willing his injured fingers to respond. His pistol fired, and the ball dug a trench in Bronhelm’s upper arm, causing him to grunt in pain and fire early. Most of the scattergun discharged into the floor, raising a cloud of shredded wood. Nick felt a stinging heat in his leg where a few pellets punched through his breeches.

Bronhelm’s anger had reached a fevered pitch, his face bent out of shape, a parody of the emotion. He released a demented cry as he tossed the blunderbuss aside and drew his own pistol.

Nick wouldn’t have thought Felix capable of movement still, stained as he was with his own blood from waist to boot, but the panther launched towards the boar and grappled with him, one claw going for his shoulder, the other for the pistol. Equals in strength, Felix managed to force the barrel skyward, and Bronhelm’s shot discharged harmlessly into the air.

Felix was unable, however, to avoid the captain’s blade, which he pressed against Felix’s chest and sliced with snarling brutality. Felix sloughed away, roaring and clutching at the injury he’d been dealt.

Nick swiftly stepped between the panther and the pig, but as Bronhelm drew himself up to his full imposing height, and Nick noticed how heavy his cutlass felt in his left hand, his determination began to wither. Fear settled in his gut, cold as polar ice.

The first swipe came rushing at his head, narrowly missing as Nick ducked under it. The second shaved the fur off his right cheek. Nick tried to pull back, to create some distance, but he was slow on his bleeding leg, and he was forced to catch the third strike with his blade.

He could feel Bronhelm’s brute strength surging around him like a tidal wave, and in desperation he willed his right hand to draw a thin dagger hanging from his belt, plunging it towards Bronhelm’s arm. He caught Nick’s wrist with his other hand, and gave it a titanic squeeze. Nick’s eyes bulged at the intensity of the pain; it was like being trapped under a dropped anvil. The pain was short-lived, however, as Bronhelm dealt him a kick to the stomach, nearly sending him into a somersault with its force. Nick banged into the barrel of a deck cannon with a metallic _clonk_ , rolling over it and landing in a heap on the other side.

Now Bronhelm’s face was lit with manic relish, and he stormed forward like a hunter, like a predator from the days of old, a thirst for the kill laid bare in his eye’s gleam and his ragged breathing. Felix held his sword out, but could not hide the tremble that ran from his arm to the blade. He was still clutching his chest. Nick tried to raise off the deck, but found his leg strangely numb. Neither of them were fit to carry on. They were defeated.

Until Judith stepped forward.

“Bronhelm! Your fate is here! Come and meet it with some semblance of honour!” she called, flashing her sabre. Its blade ran with fresh Porcine blood; her sleeve was red nearly to the shoulder. 

Bronhelm spun, and his battlemad grin only widened.

“You’re not fit to call my name, rabbit!” he sneered. “Nor to stand there and pretend to be anyone’s equal! I’ll split you down the middle, and toss one half to each of your lieutenants here, and they can sob over your remains until I end their misery! Well, come to it, then!”

While Bronhelm blustered, Judith drew her spent pistol and held it like a club. She would need to land a precise blow to bring this lumbering foe to his knees; he was more than twice her size, and strong enough to flatten her without any great difficulty. Only her speed would keep her safe. She began to circle him, trying to goad him into the first strike with her imperious stare and bared teeth.

Bronhelm did so, and tried to dash her against the deck with a powerful overhead swing. But Judith was already at a sprint, rushing to his left, and before he could recover his blade she dashed at him, slipping between his legs and landing two swipes on the inside of his thighs. Bronhelm turned with a sideways left cut, which Judith bounded over, laying a third stinging slash across his forearm. She took her distance from the swine, surveying her handiwork. But Bronhelm seemed hardly concerned about the damage he had taken; he simply turned his blade in his hand and faced her fully again.

“You’re very fast, Hopps,” he growled. “Remarkably so. How long can you keep up that speed? How many thrusts and strikes can you slip past by the skin of your teeth?” Sword raised, he rushed towards her again.

Judith stepped around his swipe and jumped forward, angling another blow at his right arm. If she could deprive him of his dominant–

She didn’t see his head move until too late, until it came crashing into her with a solid _thwack_ , knocking her into the deck with a bullet’s speed. Judith gasped, the air driven out of her, but managed to roll aside as Bronhelm’s blade plunged into the timber. She scampered afoot and dived at him again, blade flashing. But in the cramped confines of Bronhelm’s posture, she could only land a forward thrust, putting her blade in his stomach all the way to the hilt.

She realised, with a twinge of panic, that her rapier was trapped, and she released her grip on the sword and rushed away as Bronhelm grabbed for her with his spare hand. She came to a halt a few yards distant, her nose twitching, milling through her options. Without a decent weapon, Bronhelm was a good as victorious. He took her sword and, with a rumble of discomfort, yanked it free of his gut and tossed it behind him. Blood began to flow into his breeches, tracing a crimson river from his waistband to his boot. He barely noticed.

“Again, rabbit!” he cursed, and menaced her with the tip of his blade. Judith still had Felix’s dagger, and she drew it from her belt alongside the butt cap of her pistol -- not a threatening armoury at all. Her chances were becoming thinner by the moment.

Bronhelm tottered forward, slower than before, but fast enough to pose a danger. Judith met him at a jog, and parried his blow with her pistol, turning it over her head and sinking it into the deck. She gave silent thanks to the sturdiness of her trigger guard; it was all that spared her fingers from being shorn off her paw. Now she stepped forward again, and plunged the dagger into Bronhelm’s leg with all the force she could muster. Bronhelm growled, and dealt Judith a punishing kick in response. She was lifted into the air bodily, and slapped against the main mast with a bone-shaking _thump_. She couldn’t suppress an agonised shriek; the blow had lit a white-hot fire in her chest, the agony of a cracked rib. She imagined there were splinters of broken glass in her chest.

Bronhelm towered over her, victorious and mocking. “Well fought, Captain,” he chuckled, leaning against his blade. “Well fought, for a gutterbreed. And what a shame my ugliest scars will have been dealt by my least worthy opponent…”

Judith struggled to stand, but was shackled by the pain in her breast. So, she would die slouched in a pile, without ceremony, with scant honour.

She sighed in defeat -- and then a stir of movement caught her eye in the distance, and she hardly dared to dream. Maybe, just maybe, if she kept him talking…

“It doesn’t matter if you kill me,” Judith wheezed, propping herself up on one elbow. “Your crew is all but erased. You are beaten bloody. And the captain they send after me will be fresh and at the helm of a grander ship. Whoever it is will chase you down and finish the job. Zoohaven will triumph. You’ve won nothing.”

Bronhelm leered at her, on the verge of laughter. “What is this? Why are you speaking to me as if you matter?” He drew himself up, staring down with mad amusement. “This isn’t a noble death, Hopps. This was not a battle between equals. You’re a sad puppet, dancing for sad court of puppeteers, and if history deigns to remember you at all, it will be for your compounding failures in the service of a cause that was rotted through from the beginning.”

Now he leered closer, close enough that his hot breath washed over Judith, and she pulled back in disgust. “There’s a reason your kind doesn’t matter. There’s a reason why your kin burry themselves in the dirt and never toil above their humble station. Shall I tell you? It’s because you’re weak, rabbit. Weaker than the rest of your fellow sickly Zoohavenite pests, even. We will take the scourge of flame and cannon to your blasted cesspit of a city, and–"

Judith hadn’t the faintest idea how Nick had found the strength to drag himself between the ships, but he had managed somehow; had hauled himself on his elbows, hauled himself over the abandoned gangways, and spun one of the _Tribunal’s_ unfired cannonades about, pointing it directly at the _Implacable’s_ deck.

“Carrots! Make yourself small!”

Judith put her face to the floor, plugging her ears with her thumbs. Bronhelm looked up, and saw the bloodied fox standing at the cannon, match in hand; saw the grapple loaded in its bore pointed straight at him.

There were no final words; all Bronhelm managed was a chocked wheeze of disbelief, before Nick put the flame to the touch-hole, and the cannon exploded. The spearpoint cut through the air, hit Bronhelm directly in the chest, and punched him through the gunwale and into the water below. His sword clattered onto the deck -- that and an ugly red smear the only evidence now that he’d ever stood there at all.

Despite the fire in her lungs, Judith managed to get to her feet. She looked across to Nick, who had draped himself across the cannon’s barrel for support. She wanted to call out to him, but just breathing deeply sent waves of hot pain roiling inside her. Instead, she smiled at him, as broadly as she could, waving weakly in thanks. She smiled, and he smiled back.

From this point on the _Tribunal’s_ deck, Nick could see the remaining Porcine sailors throwing their weapons down and their hands up in surrender. The fire at the stern of the _Implacable_ seemed to have burned itself out. Judith had not been rent asunder. This was, he decided, what victory looked like.

And knowing that they had been victorious, and that there was no more blood to be spilled, Nick slid off the cannon and to the ground, propped up against a surprising comfortable crate. He smiled, and his body became still.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally fell afoul of that irritating deficiency where you write a paragraph and then immediately hate what you've written and erase it. Woe is me, tortured soul. Probably it didn't help that I was clutching at straws for new and interesting ways to describe the combat on the ship's deck; it is definitely time to move onto some new and interesting locations and situations that don't involve musket shot and blood splatters.
> 
> Thanks again for the comments and kudos; it really warms the cockles of my heart to read them. Whatever the damned hell cockles are; mine are warm, in any case. It's gonna be slow going as I try to figure out the scope and detail of the next story, so please bear with me and keep up the praise and helpful criticisms; it makes the writing worthwhile!
> 
> Oh, and yeah, Nick's dead. Bummer. Sorry.


	6. This Unfamiliar Feeling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So between work, catching a cold, and a sodding HURRICANE landing in my lap, this chapter has been a little behind; it was originally going to be the final one, but it's turned out big enough to split into two. I'll try not to leave you waiting too long for the finale proper.

The tiny candle bathed the interior of the hold in a caramel-rich glow, sending tall, elongate shadows up the wall to dance and parade like puppets at a theatre. It was perfectly quiet; home to nothing more than a stock of nails, cotton bolts and some empty porcelain jars, it was infrequent that anyone was called to this store to retrieve something. It made it the perfect place to take some unwarranted, but mostly riskless, additional recreation.

The two mammals relaxed around a table, improvising seats from small barrels and flour sacks. One of them, a jackal with a gauze patch over one eye, produced a pair of carved wooden dice and a cup, while the other uncorked a ceramic jug, pouring a rich, golden spirit into two waiting flagons. It filled the room with vanilla and treacle sweetness.

“I mean, can you believe it?” the leopard said, topping his companion’s cup generously. “48 barrels of the stuff! Aged and dark; probably worth thirty gold maura a barrel! And the Captain just turns it over to us!” He put the cup to his lips and took a deep, satisfied swallow. “I’ll never drink this well again!”

“The Captain has Bronhelm’s personal spirit stores, Harley,” the jackal pointed out, taking his own cup and sniffing it. “I doubt she cares how much of this poor-mammal’s treasure we drink.”

“And this is what those rank porkers were drinking all the time!” Harley continued, oblivious to his mate’s complaining. “They must have restocked from the distilleries on the other side of Blackrock, while we were taking on barrels of that bloody formaldehyde. Saints, that stuff could curl the tacks in your boots! Meanwhile, they were suckling on this golden nectar. Maybe I was born in the wrong country after all. Signing up under the Porcine sails is sounding better and better.”

“All the hogs we’ve run into lately are either dead or locked in the brig,” the jackal said, shaking his head. “The times hardly seem favourable for a career change. Besides, they wouldn’t take you anyway, you hairy mouse-catcher.”

“Eat my rump, Lars. What are we playing for?”

“I’ve got silver arga to spare. Nothing above that,” Lars said.

“Why are you suddenly such a miser?” Harley teased. “We’re survivors of the crew that struck down the Porcine renegades! We’re bloody heroes! You don’t think there’s a bonus waiting on top of our salaries when we return home?”

Lars shrugged, sipping his rum.

“Moreover, what happens when you pass your Lieutenant examinations?” Harley continued. “You’ll have your pick of commands to serve under. Every captain sailing from here to the Whitewastes will want an officer who saw Bronhelm get skewered like a roasting marshmallow.”

“Would you do it?” Lars asked. “Would you transfer out of Captain Hopps’ command?”

The question caught Harley off guard, and he went to his drink instead.

“I…no, no I suppose I wouldn’t” he finally conceded. “I know that things are said behind her back, you know? I know there are whispers, and I’ve done my share of whispering, too. It was too hard not to. I mean, a rabbit, right? I guess I was just an ignorant lackwit. She’s…she’s a fine commander.”

“We’ll learn a lot from her,” Lars added, stirring the dice in his cup. “A thing or two about swordplay, for a start. I’ve never seen faster bladework. Mind if I take first roll?”

Harley waved in assent, putting his silver coins on the table. Lars rattled the dice and then tipped them onto the tabletop.

“Seven,” he said, grinning.

“Bastard. Double on your next. I’m not letting you win the first roll,” Harley muttered.

Lars’ grin broadened, and he scooped the dice back into the cup.

“I’ll tell you something else,” Harley said, leaning back in his chair. “That damned fox of hers? Now _that_ was some show. Talk about sword skill. I’ve never seen anything to match it.”

“Nine,” said Lars. “Really?”

“Oh yeah. He’s a real artist with a sharp edge. A steel poet. Credit to his kind.”

Lars sat back, looking doubtfully at his drinking buddy. “I’ve seen brigands fight before. Trickery is their watchword. Blinding powder, bootheel razors. There’s no honour in that kind of fighting.”

“You weren’t there,” Harley said, fixing Lars with a hard stare. “I saw the fox fight. He was no sneak-sword, no. He was no dishonourable thug. I saw him; he’d been pumped full of shot, he was fighting with his left arm, and he took on three of those swine at once. Three! I watched him. He drew them back so the most aggressive hog took the lead, and then he carved his throat without a wink of effort!” He drew his thumb across his throat for effect. “Then he had the second, and then the third. With his left, mind you; I can’t bloody well stir a pot with my left hand! If it had been me out there, I’d be dead in a bag with my blackcoin, like all those other poor sods.”

Blackcoins were a part of traditional Zoohavenite funeral rites; a blackened gold coin, arranged in the clasped hands of the departed, serving as payment for the celestial ferry that ushered souls to the Afterworld. At the mention, Lars leered across the table.

“Well, you can talk up the Redcoat’s brilliance all day if you like,” he grumbled, “seen as how you had such a grand view of it. Meanwhile, here’s me, nearly missing an eye from one of those mud-wallowing bastards’ axes.” He gestured to the clump of gauze pressed over his left socket. “Next time I’ll join you at the balcony seats and watch from a safe distance.”

“Hey, I fought just as hard as any other,” Harley snarled. “Just roll the dice, and quit your bitter whining.”

Lars tipped the cup over, and sucked a breath through his teeth.

“Serves you right,” Harley said, and reached for the pile of silver. “You want double odds to win it back?”

Lars shook his head, and Harley took the cup and dice. “And anyway, if a rabbit can sword-dance with perfect form, why not a fox?”

“I’ll believe it when I see it with my own eyes,” Lars quipped.

“There’ll be a rather long wait before I go repeating any such heroics,” came a voice from the shadows, “so between your half-sight and my slow recovery, perhaps you should put your trust in the fellow with two eyes.”

Harley and Lars bounced out of their seats in surprise, the coins and dice clattering to the floor. A pile of empty sacks in the corner of the room shuffled, and Nick rose out of them, giving the startled mammals a look.

“You two appear to have seen a ghost,” he exclaimed. “Well, perhaps I am dead and risen. It certain feels like it.”

Mistaking Nick for a spirit was not such a stretch; his prodigious wounds had required an exorbitant amount of bandaging, and though much of it was disguised under his brown longcoat and cleaned cotton shirt, plenty of his white dressings stood out.

“Lieutenant!” Harley cried, saluting, and giving his goggling mate a sharp elbow to do the same. “Sorry, we didn’t know you were down here, sir!”

“And I’d wager no one else knows you’re down here, either,” Nick observed. “Personally, I like it because its peaceful and dark; a nice place to be while I get over being very nearly dead.”

“Sir, my apologies. If we’d known you were resting here, we’d have taken pains to be more quiet. Also, sir, my comrade here would like to admit his regret for any untoward remarks he might have made. He has been drinking, and lacks the good sense not to talk at the same time…”

Nick waved Harley quiet, still smiling. “First of all, Harley – is it Harley? First of all, stop calling me sir. Sirs have money and land and superiority complexes, and I’m sorely lacking at least two of those. Second, if you think the worst I’ve heard levelled at foxes is that we’re dishonest cads, then I’ll have you know that treads very close to being a compliment.” He turned to Lars, whose eye was very deliberately searching for things to stare at that weren’t Nick. “Although, to your sceptical friend here, I do have to put the question of how, if not in the melee, I acquired so many cuts on my person. A shelf of a knife-maker’s wares fell on me, perhaps? It must have been a grand accident, in any case.”

Lars swallowed. His gulp echoed in the room, like a heavy stone thrown down a well.

“Well, gentlemammals,” Nick finally said, grinning at the palpable tension, “I know better than to interrupt a game of chance for too long. I reckon my convalescence will proceed just as well on deck.” He offered a stiff bow, and the pair of officers fumbled between bows and salutes themselves. Then, before they could broach the topic of their likely flogging and demotion, Nick slipped out of the hold and headed for the weather deck.

 

 

The clamour on the decks was beyond belief; forty mammals, sailors, soldiers and other crew, rushing here and there, doing the work of twice their number. Their eagerness, however, had no genesis in the threat of death or fear of the lash. It was instead exaltation at their triumph, a raw and genuine excitement, that sent the crew to work with demonic fervour, smiling and whistling as they went. The joy showed no sign of abating, even ten days on from the legendary engagement, which was useful since there was much aboard the _Tribunal_ that needed setting right before she would be fit to sail again.

It had been evident, after the smoke cleared and wounds were stitched, that the _Implacable_ had seen its last day. The fire had not consumed it entirely, but had left substantial harm that may have been beyond the means of a complete crew, a dry dock and the necessary equipment to repair. Trapped here, on the remote face of the world, with two damaged vessels, Judith had decided to cannibalise the valiant Zoohavenite warship for the parts needed to repair the _Tribunal,_ on which they would make their return to Zooport. Bronhelm had, after all, offered them free use of his ship.

Now the _Implacable_ sat, sadly charred and pock-marked, moored in place while crew saw to shifting its undamaged foremast and mizzenmast over to the _Tribunal._ Perhaps watching the slowly disintegrating _Implacable_ , and working aboard the vanquished enemy’s ship, served as a constant reminder of how far they’d come and over what odds they had triumphed, hence the jubilant activity.

Felix was taking no part in the reconstruction. Following Bronhelm’s memorable departure, the Deck Paws had found him sprawling on the ground in a spreading bloodpool and taken him below deck on a stretcher. He’d spent four days in the infirmary; or rather, he had been in the infirmary for such a stretch of time, for he could only recall a few pain-racked hours. Felix detested hospital stays more than anything; he could not abide the stink of recuperation, of festering wounds and sterilizing solutions, or the constant moans of other invalids. After an additional two days of consciousness in the ward, he could stand no more, and despite the surgeon’s protests he decided he would make his return to good health in the open air.

He had found a relatively deserted location on the ship’s gun deck, which he had made comfortable with pilfered blankets. Here he sat all day, like a meditating monk; eye’s closed, ears twitching towards the various sounds, his jacket unbuttoned to let the cool air at the poultice that covered his chest wound. The surgeon had done his best, and frankly it was a miracle that the wound hadn’t become infected and taken his life. Felix wouldn’t, however, escape without a jagged grey scar from his shoulder to his waist. While he wasn’t exactly buoyed by the thought of this permeant memento of his tussle with a Porcine sword, he found he only really cared that he returned to his former constitution without tax to his speed or strength. And so he sat, and moved as little as he could manage.

He was in such a position, cross-legged and hands resting on his knees, when he smelled a familiar scent.

“Shouldn’t you be resting in the infirmary, fox?” he asked.

“You know, there is no place worse suited to the concept of recovery than an infirmary,” Nick said. “It’s the noisiest place on the ship entire. All that moaning and gasping, the doctor pouring rancid tonics down your throat. You’ve better chance getting good rest under the barrel of a cannon during gun drills.”

“You could have died, I suppose,” Felix muttered with a shrug. “I’m told the Afterworld is very tranquil.”

“An interesting proposition. I’m sure there’s plenty who’d be pleased if I went searching for peace and quiet on a different plane of existence. A shame I’ll have to disappoint them.”

Felix opened one eye, giving the pirate a look. He was honestly surprised that the fox hadn’t been one of the crew placed in a bag and dropped over the ship’s edge. He had taken the most astounding quantity of damage Felix had ever heard of, and yet here he stood, mobile enough to find and irritate whoever he pleased. “Is there something you want, Redcoat?” he asked.

“Well, a moment’s pleasant conversation; the same as any upstanding gentlemammal could want. But since you clearly need beauty sleep in some abundance, I’ll be content if you can direct me to the Captain. Save me meandering up and down the deck looking for her.”

“I don’t know,” Felix sighed, “but you will probably find her supervising the repairs. Perhaps at the bow end of the ship.”

Nick gave him a clunky, graceless bow, and turned to leave.

“Nick…” Felix began. He immediately he saw the fox stiffen, and regretted the familiar address, the implication of friendship. But it needed to be said. “You might be a thief and a hateful brigand, and the very thing I signed up to eradicate as well. You might be. But what you did for the Captain…that was true bravery. There’s not many who serve under the Zoohaven flag who could find such reserves of courage.”

Nick had turned to face Felix, and watched him silently, no trace of emotion on his features. Felix closed his eyes again.

“You’ll never be one of us. Never a patriot. You’ll always be an outlaw, deep down.” He shifted slightly, taking a deep breath and drinking in the salt air. “Maybe that doesn’t matter.”

Nick stood for a moment longer, and when it was clear that the panther had no more to say, he smiled with a snort, and made his way to the front of the ship.

 

 

“How is it coming, Samuel?” Judith called over the ship’s bow.

The steady _thunk_ of hammer and chisel against timber came to a halt, and there was a grunt from the carpenter who was dangling in a rope harness over the side of the ship.

“I’ve knocked the ugly smile right off the snout of the fair Porcine maiden that was there,’ came the badger’s gravelly reply, a voice made rough by years of hard toil and harder drink. “She’ll not be missed. I mean praise the saints, if that’s what passes for beauty in that mudhole of a country, I reckon it’s a question for the ages how any of them pigs breed. I’m half-blind, and I’d nay touch her with a six-foot pole and enough whiskey to kill an elephant.”

“You put something fine in its place,” said Judith, a smile creeping across her face. “Something for the fine folk of Zooport to cheer at as we sail in to dock.”

“I’ve half a mind to carve Bronhelm’s fat arse up here. Put the spear in it and everything,” Samuel muttered, taking up his tools again.

“Now that would something worth immortalising,” said Nick, coming up the stairwell. Judith cocked her head at his voice, and smiled a little wider.

“Lieutenant Wilde,” she said.

“It can take its rightful place in the Royal Museum afterwards, hey?” Nick continued, offering a sketchy salute with his working arm. “Nobles will come from miles about to marvel at its import. And a painting to commemorate it, as well. _The Vulpine and the Swine’s Behind_. I’m sure the Royal Navy will patronize the arts this once.”

“How are you recovering?” Judith asked.

“Well, I am well enough to stand on two legs, and happy with that at this juncture,” Nick said. “The surgeon assures me I won’t suffer any permanent reduction of my ability; my arms and legs should all bend the same as they used to. I fear my looks, however, are unlikely to make any such recovery.” He lifted his arms slightly, as if to survey his own body. “I’ve a scar or two more than I feel comfortable with. I’ll just have to pray that vixens find blemished skin irresistibly attractive.”

“I saw you when they carried you below deck,” Judith said, ignoring his levity. “You were ragged and blood-spattered. Your tongue was lolling in your muzzle. You had the look of a dead thing, and I feared the worst.”

Nick fell quiet. Judith was looking right through his charade, peering at the fear underneath. He suddenly felt deeply uncomfortable, like a liar before a judge, moments from having his falsehoods unravel. Moments away from her discovery of what exactly it was that he feared, and what it would mean.

“Yes…well, I am equally ecstatic at having survived,” Nick muttered. “I’m sure it won’t be the last time I stare death in his ugly, unblinking face. And pray though I might for a body of iron, no such miracle seems to be forthcoming; even if it did, I’m sure fate would conspire to knock me overboard and suffer me to sink eternally.”

“Ever the realist, hey?” Judith said with a smirk.

“Mostly though, I am just glad that we have triumphed, and that you escaped with nothing so damningly awful as my own scars,” Nick said. At that, Judith reached up and touched the faint cleft in the fur over her brow, a small testament to the glancing shot that, had it struck an inch over, would have killed her.

“And you dare to speak of blemished skin,” she joked, “now that I’m as hideous as a hunchback mole. No suitor could dare gaze upon me without vomiting.”

Nick laughed, and struggled to hide the spasm of pain it sent coursing through him. “You’re right, Captain,” he managed. “Truly, you are irredeemably grotesque now, and will have to settle for a marriage to the navy. Which I somehow suspected you would do anyway…”

The silence lasted a beat too long.

“And Nick, honestly,” Judith said, setting her amethyst stare on his own emerald-green eyes, “I am glad you’re still alive. You and Felix, both. You are soldiers under my command, but you are more besides. Really, I’m not sure what I would do if either of you were gone.”

It put a dent in the carefully-erected armour around Nick’s heart, and panic began to seep through.

For he had had comrades before, and betrayers, and adversaries, and rivals, and nemeses, and even the strange, argumentative relationship between himself and Hopps when she had first taken him under her command had been familiar enough to him; had possessed a comfortable distance.

Now he felt something else, and what was this feeling? Something unfamiliar, and yet instantly recognisable. Something dangerous. Impossible. Incendiary

But before he could speak, Judith started off from the forecastle, and gave Nick a wave to follow her.

“Come with me. There’s something I’d like to show you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So of course Nick isn't dead; I was just aiming to rile you up a little. And he's not sporting any permanent injuries just yet, either; again, sorry to disappoint if you thought a peg leg or a hook paw were on the way. I've found that fics that rush into debilitating injuries too quickly, without giving you time to get attached to the characters first, lose a lot of the emotional weight that such a change should create. It'll be a long while before I decide to do anything that will make us all lose sleep at night...
> 
> With any luck I'll bring this section to a close sooner than later, since I have a rough outline for where this story is destined now, and it's giving me goosebumps thinking about how I can realize it. Hopefully you'll be there with me each step of the way. It's unfortunate that real life, that uncaring monster, doesn't give a wet shit about your passion projects, but for the moment at least I'm excited to keep writing. Never underestimate the power of a kind word to keeping that fire stoked.


	7. Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter. Enjoy.

"The repair crew tells me it will be another eight days before the sails are set in place," Judith said as the pair made their way sternward. "As soon as the _Tribunal_ is fit to sail, we shall return to Blackrock for essential supplies, and then sail on to Zooport. We're at sea for at least another three weeks, it would seem."

Nick looked out to the _Implacable_ , where the partly disassembled masts hung like caped colossuses, dark against the slowly setting sun. The late afternoon painted the sky with vivid gold and indigo hues, staining the scattered clouds with a palette that would make an artist swoon. Nick was unsurprised that the sailors were making use of every ration of daylight available, given the fervour to restore the ship that seemed to have possessed them. The hero's reception awaiting them at Zooport was certainly an enticement, too.

"This looks like challenging work," he observed, gesturing to the system in place to move the sails from one ship to the other. It consisted of a series of pulleys and heavy rope, running to the heights of the _Tribunal’s_ main sail, effectively turning it into an ad hoc crane. Additional anchors on the ship's opposite side counteracted the enormous weight being transferred between. "Is there any danger they'll slump over, and we spend the rest of time trying to fish them out of the ocean?"

"Absolutely," said Judith cheerfully, "given we are at one third strength, doing labour that would undo the confidence of a full repair crew with proper training. And yet, somehow..."

They paused and watched as MacHorn, still plastered with white dressings and missing an ear, took hold of a trailing rope. He caught their gaze for a moment, giving them a nod, and then he heaved on the line. The hanging mast shuddered, shifting by a clear foot.

"Somehow, things will turn out for the best?" Nick finished.

"We even have time to see to improving the ship's ornamentation," Judith said, "along with the necessary repairs to the gunwales and decking. Which, care of your genius plan, were all shot to destruction."

"There's no such thing as a delicate victory, Captain," Nick observed. "Not in my experience. And you gave the order to fire, in any case."

"I shall have to have Samuel change the lettering at the stern of the ship, as well," Judith continued, thumb to chin. "The Porcine national motto is hardly a suitable maxim to have on show."

"I suppose the Zoohaven Navy has something equally pompous you can settle for?"

"Trust; Integrity; Bravery."

"That's terrible," Nick chuckled. "It sounds like something mindless that the City Watch would chant. Saints, isn't there a scrap of artistic talent left in your bloody country? Hasn’t anyone read Geoffrey Clawser?"

If Nick's barbs caused offense, Judith didn't let it show. Pausing at the base of the stairwell, she gave Nick a look of concern. "Are you fit to climb the stairs? Do you need assistance?”

Again, Judith cut through his joviality, and Nick’s humour wrinkled into annoyance. "I’m just fine, thank you," he muttered.

Judith made her way up to the gun deck, continuing to talk of the repairs that needed seeing to. As he hobbled behind her, Nick found his eyes caught on the sway of her ears, bobbing slightly left and right. That newly-minted feeling raised its head again, and occasioned some alarm in him. After all, she was a rabbit. A rabbit, Saints sake! They weren't even close to the same species. They were natural enemies, besides. Not to mention he was a rough, unrefined bandit, and she an imperial captain; part of a society whose rules about who made suitable company for who were deeply entrenched, as unchanging as a sheer granite cliff. It was a patently absurd thought. Surely the product of a delusion. Surely the work of a damaged mind, which rest would put right.

And yet all his rationalization did nothing to dampen the urge he felt now to reach out and touch her, to put a hand on her shoulder, or to run one claw along the length of her ear. Nick had seen beauty before: in vixens; in she-wolves; even a lioness once, draped in gold and red satin, whom he had enticed to his bed with sweet whispers and promises that were instantly broken. Nick had spent nights with goddesses before, and they in no way drew any semblance to Judith, not in shape, nor size, nor melody of voice. So why was he now unable to take his eyes off the small, steel-grey bunny? Off her cottony tuft of a tail?

There was one thing he did know, though; this new and unnerving feeling seemed to have force. Have life. It was a fire in no peril of sputtering out. It was no passing fantasy.

And so, he resolved to build a dam inside himself, as solid and permanent a structure as ever was built, and he would keep this feeling safely contained behind its impenetrable walls, and never dare to lap at the rising waters that promised to be so cool and sweet. To do other would be reckless, irrational.

They reached the top of the stairs, and suddenly Nick realised Judith had asked him a question, and watched him expectantly for the answer.

"Sorry, Captain. My recovery has left me slightly hard of hearing," he lied, cleaning his ear with one extended claw.

"I said, you never really planned to desert mid-battle, did you?"

"Oh," Nick said, grinning. "Not especially. I was too worried about that ogre of a pig, Bronhelm, and who was going to save you from being flattened.”

"How unpatronizing," Judith chided, her arms crossed. "If I remember correctly, it was I coming to your rescue first. Although, of course, thank you for that legendary final blow. The officers have been talking about that for days. Half the crew doesn’t even believe it happened."

"Of course they don't," said Nick. "Foxes don't go to the aid of rabbits. It's unnatural, like a swift sloth. That said, if any loud-mouthed, aggrandizing cur ever deserved the shame of being undone by a pirate fox, it was Bronhelm."

"If you had been on equal terms, I've no doubt you could have beaten him at swordplay,” said Judith earnestly. “He was near untouched, and you were on the brink of ruination. I've seen you fight before, Nick; you outclassed him. Your sword is like a piece of you."

Glad that his red fur hid the scarlet tinge to his ear, Nick replied, "Well, that is high praise coming from a swordmammal as accomplished as yourself. Your blade earned this victory as much as mine did...”

Judith’s lip curled in a little smile, and she beckoned him to follow, while he cursed inwardly. Where had his silver tongue gotten to? Where was his acid wit? He was not the kind to pay compliments, and here he was, gushing like a young bachelorette to an eligible suitor. He followed, silently demanding that his old, sardonic self come out of hiding.

They made their way to the top of the _Tribunal’s_ quarter deck, where Hopps' navigation desk sat, having been amongst the first fixtures transferred across from the _Implacable._ The map they had studied over a week prior was still pinned to it.

"I may be the faster sword, Nick," Judith said, stopping by the edge of the map, "but your genius is what really secured victory that day. Without your scheme, we'd have surrendered our advantages completely."

"That is my purpose now, right?" Nick asked, resting against the map board. "Helping you think like a scoundrel would?”

"Yes," said Judith, "but you aren't just some tool. Not to me. You deserve better than that."

She pressed her paw to the map, drawing Nick’s eye to the Ribbons, the clutch of thin, finger-bone islands amidst which the battle against Bronhelm had been fought, and to the lump of an island through which Nick had guided them. Across the latter, in as close a mimicry of the map maker's style as could be achieved, was a meandering line, indicating the passage that split the island in half. Over the top of it read the newly-inked words, _Fox's Guile_.

Nick stared at the change for a moment, and then looked up a Judith.

 "I’ll take the name to the Royal Archive of Cartography," she said, with a wry little smile, "to make sure it’s made official."

"Is this my reward?" he asked. "For my indispensable wisdom? For coming to the rescue multiple times, and then almost getting killed?"

"Yes," replied Judith. "Also, the Zoohaven Navy lets you carry on under my command, and doesn't hang you by the neck."

Nick flashed a toothy grin, and looked back to his small piece of immortality. "Now the strategic significance of this ugly little island will be common knowledge. You won't be able to use it to gain the advantage a second time."

"Well, I was once told it is blind idiocy to pull the same trick twice. I can’t recall by whom, but it has the air of good advice, doesn't it?"

Nick was about to feign hurt over the title referring to any old fox’s guile, rather than his in particular, when Judith said, “Do you remember how we met, Nick?”

Nick glanced up at her. She was watching him attentively, as if trying to catch a glimpse of his mind at work. “How could I forget,” Nick said. “I’d never wanted to kill anyone so completely before in all my life.”

 

 

It had started when Judith, sailing a small sloop under the command of Commodore Adam Pepper, had been tasked with ridding the Alphesian Gulf of piracy. She had taken down many noteworthy buccaneers; Pierce Grew, Robert Whiteye, Walter ‘Well-Scarred’ Harris, Grey Thomas the Mad Rat. The Redcoat was the only noticeable omission from her list, and she was resolved to bring his infamy to a halt.

He had given her the slip many a time, and he had started to suspect her of senselessness, until she had caught him in a trap by pretending to be a damaged merchant vessel, and striking when he took the bait. Nick managed to flee, but not without taking on holes which, in turn, began taking on water.

Somehow luck deigned to deposit him on some uncharted coast, where the remains of his crew dispersed and scurried into the jungle. Nick did so too, and after several hours passed he pronounced his escape successful, and began to consider a suite of conniving options to get himself off the island and at the helm of another ship. Then he heard something scampering thought the undergrowth; saw a flash of steel, glimpses of grey fur and blue tunic, and he had set off running again, hoping desperately that this was all a nightmare, while ferns and vines whipped at his face to remind him it was no dream.

She finally cornered him at an ancient stone wall, the long-abandoned ruins of some primitive culture, and demanded he throw down his weapons and surrender, or submit to the sword’s justice.

Nick had drawn his own blade and rushed her, murder in his eyes, planning to kill her quickly and disappear into the cover of the wilderness and the falling night. Nothing such occurred; she parried his every attack, wore him down to his last bead of stamina, and then punished his exhaustion with a brutal disarm that nearly broke his finger.

Then she had drawn her loaded pistol, levelled it calmly at him, and asked him one last time; would he come in irons, or would his life end here and now? It was more than a brigand could ask in the situation; a second chance, when he had already made his best attempt at slaying her.

He had turned her down. Demanded a quick kill. Poured scorn on her and her kind and all who sailed under the Zoohaven flag. Said some highly uncouth things about her mother. Spat at her. And then, when the fire of his anger had blown out, and all that was left were the cold, sad ashes of his fear, and he was standing, quiet and trembling, waiting for the end, Judith fired.

The ball brushed past him, missing his stomach by mere inches, punching a gaping hole in the waist of his coat.

Nick's life, it seemed, was not at an end; instead, a beginning.

 

 

“Then you sheathed your pistol,” Nick said, “and threw a pair of shackles at my feet, and told me whether I live or die was not a decision to be made that day.” He opened his longcoat, and popped his finger through his lucky hole, the one hole which, unlike the fresh ones rent by the clash aboard the _Implacable_ , he had deliberately left unpatched. “I’ve been drowning in good luck ever since.”

Judith smiled at that, but her tone was serious. “I kept you alive for a reason Nick. You’re different; whether you like to hear it or not, you aren’t the same as the pirates you call company. You’re brave, you’re valiant, you can show mercy, you can be kind. You’re also the cleverest mammal I’ve ever met. It’s a shame that, apparently, it also matters that you’re a fox. You’re here today because you’re of use to me, and to the lords that wave the flag I sail under. But a part of me wants to carry you to the halls where those same lords sit, and demand an explanation for how they decide one mammal is fit, and the other isn’t. They wouldn’t be able to say, for there is no good answer.”

Nick was quiet, watching her carefully, unsure of the point she wanted to make. The walls of the dam remained steadfast.

“I’ve chosen a hard life for myself, Nick,” she continued, looking out to sea. “Do you know why?”

Nick shook his head. He honestly couldn’t guess.

“My family were farmers. Are farmers. So were my neighbours, and my friends, and near as I can tell every rabbit I ever met. For some reason, it’s taken as an absolute that rabbits do not belong in positions of power. So, I decided to change that, and I encountered every kind of hindrance imaginable. In finding help to move to Zooport. In finding accommodations when I arrived. In securing a scholarship to the Zooport University. Getting the only family I had there, an uncle who worked as a minor bureaucrat, to vouch for me, and somehow persuading the administration that that, and my own talents, were enough. Doing it a second time to enter the Naval Academy. It was all to prove to myself, to my family, to anyone who cared to listen, that rabbits are worth a damn. I’m not finished yet; even now, my success feels meagre, and mostly down to luck, or the arbitrary choices of others I’ll never even meet.”

“What does this have to do with me?” Nick asked.

“We’re the same mammal, you and I,” Judith replied, turning to face him. “On different paths, maybe, with different goals. But we are the same. I’ve dragged myself on my belly to reach where I am, and it still isn’t far enough. I need someone to push me that little bit further, Nick. That someone is you; and when you do push me forward, I’ll be holding onto you tightly. We’ll go together. Because when I do make it, when I reach the summit, and can finally change Zoohaven for the better, I want you standing right by my side. The first rabbit Admiral, taking her seat at the Convention, is going to have the first fox lord to do the same by her side. If you want no part in that, then tell me now, and you can return to being my counsel, and nothing more.”

Nick couldn’t take his eyes off her. They were stuck fast, unblinking. He wanted to tell her she was delusional and, in any case, should be ashamed for assuming to know so much about his wishes.

He couldn’t; she spoke with such unwavering optimism, such unchallengeable want. The picture she painted filled him up with the purest joy he had ever dreamed of. Madness or otherwise, it was what he wanted. And she was determined that he was the necessary piece to seeing that vision fulfilled.

“You think too much of me, Hopps,” he said. “I’m just a pirate. A thug. You’re kidding yourself to imagine you’ll ever stand in the halls of power, and that a fox will be welcome along with you. That just isn’t how the world works.”

“You can take me there, Nick,” she said. Her small paw slid across the map and found his, her gentle fingers resting on his own. “I need everyone; Felix, this crew, whoever else I can convince to stand in my corner. But I need a guardian and adviser most of all. I need you.”

The dam he had erected cracked. Burst. The water closed over him, and he drowned. He looked down at those small grey digits, resting on his own red fur, and then back at her daring violet eyes.

“Alright, then. We’ll go together.”

 

 

Imagine, for a moment, a different world; a world where the mind is a glass window, and thoughts could be caught and read as easily as the pages of a book. Imagine the differences in such a world.

In such a world, at this very moment, both the rabbit and the fox would have peered into each other, and seen that really, at their very cores, what they wanted most was each other. Not power, or money, or glory, or the means to fashion a better world, but just the freedom to wrap their arms around one another for comfort, and in time to say “I love you” and all the other truths that might follow.

There is no such world. The thoughts and desires of others are a murk that can’t be pierced. The freedom for innocent love to blossom is burned and crushed by the trials of reality.

In this world, Judith suddenly blinked, and sheepishly took her paw away from Nick’s, because even if she kept him as her bodyguard and confident, she could never have him as her lover. Not with the world as it was, with the way jaded eyes fell, condescending and suspicions, on their species respectively. She was too scared.

And Nick felt no sting at her withdrawal, because he did not believe that anyone could look upon a fox without at least a glimmer distrust at best, and outright loathing at worst. Even Judith, he swore, for all her high praise, couldn’t want him for more than his experience and skill. Why would she? He was just a red fox, a little too old and too scarred, who needed to be chained before he could be trusted.  He was not an object of desire. She might see him as a confidant and protector, but she’d never see him in the way that, it was beginning to dawn on him, he wanted more than wine or wealth or his next breath.

So, the two drew apart. They were still smiling, still touched by the length each was willing to go for the other’s dream, but also swallowing a bitter sorrow. A sorrow which sailed with them all the way back to Zooport.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is where we leave things for the moment. It was a hard chapter to write, tying up all the loose ends while trying to somehow weave in the themes of the movie's original plot. But I'm pretty pleased with it. Hopefully the sad note of the ending doesn't give you too much grief; you need the troughs of misery to make the heights of satisfaction all the more enjoyable.
> 
> Quick technical note; sorry to readers who expected smut and feel cheated. Now that I'm more familiar with the site I'll introduce tags with the content that is written, not planned. On review, even the violence wasn't all that intense, so this story will get bumped down the intensity scale a notch. I think I'll publish the explicit scenes as separate work, just to keep things clear and honest. And never fear; those scenes are coming, because this story isn't over. Not by a long shot.
> 
> It might be a little while before the next update; I'm not starting until I'm certain I have the plot ironed out, and who knows when that will be. I promise not to leave you in the lurch for any longer than necessary. And of course, thanks once again to everyone who posted comments or left kudos. You are definitely (in your best pirate voice, please), "me hearties".


End file.
